By the idea that I characterize her as acquiescent, I do not mean Debbie’s a push over. She’s a lot more woman than that. That the woman is willing to work with me, which is a desirable quality right there, I think I’m found a gem in Woody Hall. I’m thrilled with Debbie. A wonderful staff working here, I’ve scarcely plumbed where I stand, in the way of what’s acceptable and what isn’t.
But I’m done fighting before I’ve begun, in this place of daily surprises.
I’m done being a nomad and a wanderer. I’m done running around in this world. I’m settling into the routine of the retirement community, and accepting my small place in it. Debbie brings out more personal feelings, than I imagined I still had. I cleared the air with her about such things as commitment.
That’s not what I’m looking for.
Ease my own weary mind a little bit.
You’d rather Debbie and I got it on, all hot and heavy, right here on the pages. You’d get a chance to drool, you would, but that’s not where I’m going with her or with you. After a lifetime of heartache and isolation, I’m done. There’s one person I’m in love with in this world, and she moved on long ago, whether I like it or not.
Do tell how I get along without her?
I just do, that’s all.
I allow ladies like Debbie, to feed my fantasies, which every human man has a need to have done, sooner or later. She knows she’s fulfilling that function, but doesn’t seem to mind. I’ve lavished on her some effusive compliments, told her just how I feel. Any less of a woman would have shot me down with both barrels, long before this late date in the history of; but not this one.
This one is gracious throughout.
That’s what I mean by acquiescent.
Debbie accepts me for who I am, and conversely, I present a gentleman. She gives me the latitude to be just that. My concept of a relationship is so thoroughly escued, I’d be hard put to write romance novels. They’d sound too irrational or non-reality based. I’m giving my reader a fantasy, as fast as I can write. I’m not interested in lassoing or hogtying a woman.
I dated a woman once, who would allow no physical contact between us, regardless of what I wanted. I have no idea where Sue was coming from otherwise, but I dated her a long time. Enjoyed it too. It was nice to have a woman around. I was fascinated with Sue. She was a lovely redhead, who juggled two jobs at one, and a house of her own.
We’d talk on the phone for hours.
I finally dropped Sue, because she was starving my grandiloquent male ego.
Now, I’m the one starving the female, and am not doing it to get even with them, in the slightest. I’m just not particularly interested in participating in extra curricular activities anymore. Louis is like that, and so am I. I’ve been taught to dish it out, as well as take it. Rather enjoy just giving a woman an effusive compliment now and then.
Watch her smile from the depths of her at the elegance of my language.
It’s fun complimenting this Debbie, just because she’s enough of a lady to take it in, and keep on ticking, like Memorex. Sue would disdained compliments, suspicious of their underlying meaning, just as much as she disdained physical contact. Sure, young men have their ulterior motives, but I’m not young. I’ve just been rejected enough I no longer want to play the game.
After all, isn’t it every woman’s desire to be beautiful in some man’s eye? Honestly? And yet, ever since Kathryn moved on, it’s as though every woman I’ve complimented, has found some reason to turn it into something wrong, or something committal, or some such thing. I’m telling them frequently their beautiful, not proposing marriage, or making a mortal threat.
I realize you have a lot of names to digest, but Kathryn is the one I’m in love with. Sue is someone I dated after Kathryn and I hadn’t seen each other for a long time, well after she’d married, and Debbie is the one who can take my compliments on the chin. I prefer to let Kathryn drop. Debbie is the one I took up my laptop to chronicle in the first place.
I’m telling them all, so they’ll know.
Why is that so difficult to comprehend?
I realize my meaning is obtuse. You can’t know what I mean, and then you’re threatened or want me to go away. I can’t understand how a simple statement, a very basic concept in our language, can be so utterly misconstrued. I do not mean, “let’s get married,” or “I’m going to do you bodily harm.” Why would I do such things in the first place?
America watches too much TV.
I was a radically abused child, and abused children don’t have normal relationships. That’s why I’m not interested in a relationship. I do not want to extend the abuse I’m suffering. I’m not interested in confusing people, or frightening people, controlling people. I only want to stay in the retirement community, and continue receiving the help I need.
I need it bad enough.
I like my home.
Stuck my head in Debbie’s office this morning, and she was radiant, as usual. She smiled that delighted smile of her’s, and I’m on cloud nine. She claims to have children. That much I believe, along with the estranged husband I can scarcely imagine. She could have said an awful lot more about him than she did, bringing him to life in the mind of the writer a lot more.
But then, it’s none of my business. I’d just like more of a picture of a man she’d marry, so I can make it everybody’s business, as a chronicler of the life and times around Woody Hall. I’m so grateful Debbie didn’t rebuke me for giving her compliments. It’s reassuring that she didn’t. I’m free to knock at her open door, and stick my head in, for one of her many beautiful smiles.
Even other women might be amazed about how many times I’ve been called down for giving a woman a compliment. I expected the same from Debbie, except she claimed simply, that “compliments are good.” With as stunning and breath taking as Debbie is, it wouldn’t surprise me if she gets a lot of compliments. Debbie’s got black hair and dark eyes, not my usual attraction at all.
Maybe other men keep their compliments to themselves.
It could be that men are intimidated by such sparkling radiance. Her acquiescence to a man’s enthusiasm is disarming, at least in my instance. There is a certain innocence to her that defies description. She accepts things at face value, and takes things from there. Where men go with a compliment is either the most delightful conversation, or the biggest turn off.
I’m trying to have my compliments at face value.
More than that would be overwhelming for the abused adult child.