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Maureen Dowd was on Imus the other morning plugging her new book, “Are Men Necessary”; a book I plan to buy so I can get some slightly demented insight into the mind of a troubled woman. During the interview, Imus and his sidekick Charles challenged Ms. Dowd about a female perception she had just suggested that all heterosexual men froth at the mouth at the mere mention of a trip to a strip club or the possibility of a cat fight or the chance two women might lock in lesbian love making. Imus proclaimed that he, even amidst the weakness of lowly cocaine induced comas and vodka fed stupors, never stepped inside a topless joint. Charles nodded his head in brotherhood like the bobble-head doll he is sometimes. Their point being, not all men are beasts; that some have evolved above such shameful sexual servitude.
A couple of things.
First, Imus and Charles are probably lying through their coffee stained teeth about visiting strip clubs.
Second, I have frequented such establishments years ago. I eventually concluded that go-go bars are places where prematurely balding, man-boobed, middle aged business men hire enterprising young shapely women, forming a convenient unholy alliance of distrust to tap into the cash cow created when injured fragile male egos are deceived by alcohol induced sexual fantasy. All the females need to do is squirm provocatively while whispering real sweet nothings into customers’ hair filled ears. And if carried out correctly, the dollars shoot out of the slobbering stooges like ATMs in gleeful male orgasm. Make no mistake about it; the dancer is always in control of the patron. And when she is not, she moves on to the next penis clad cash machine. The only cost to her is to turnover some obscene percentage of the take to her sleazy male boss. It’s a business after all, and business is still a male dominated endeavor.
Third, if one has ever listened to Imus for more than an hour, one knows he and his cronies takes delight in sexually stereotyping and demeaning women. This idea that Charles and he are better than that is all part of the act.
For instance, a few minutes further into the same interview, Imus commented on the “balls” it took for Maureen Dowd to write a particular op-ed piece about Judith Miller—a remark that she quickly and graciously accepted with a simple and sweet, “thank you”. Although I haven’t checked, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Ms. Dowd does not have testicles. So why was she so quick to acknowledge and accept what I’m guessing she felt was a compliment? I’m pretty sure that bravery, fearlessness, strength, and conviction—all nice attributes to have when kept in check by common sense—are not gender assigned. And I’m positive they are not a function of male genitalia. I’m equally convinced that reluctance, fearfulness, and weakness do not require one to have a vagina.
It’s one thing, a very feeble thing at that, for Imus and his crew or even Jon Stewart and Al Franken for that matter—all professed non-chauvinists—to use male-centric language in an “equal opportunity” way; misguided into believing that somehow they are treating women and men equally.
It is another thing though for Maureen Dowd to acknowledge and welcome her inclusion into the club. She could have simply said, “Imus are you suggesting that I have to be a man to be tough?”
I am sure if asked Maureen Dowd would say without hesitation that she is a feminist or at least a proponent of feminist beliefs. Why then did she let Imus off the hook and indulge in the myth?
Like many things about feminists, I don’t get it. They can be their own worst enemy from time to time—just like Democrats when they run a national campaign.
Here is another example of something I don’t get. Why do some corporate feminists find short tight skirts, plunging necklines and push-up bras to be the business suit of choice? I suppose they might argue, just as strippers might, that they are simply using their power over men to get what they want. And on some level I understand that argument: play into the male need to be the sexual alpha dog as long as the targeted objective is personal gain. This attitude however strikes me as feeding the very stereotyping and sexism women want to end, which leads me into a short discussion of another dilemma I have with feminism. Within the last few years, I have been introduced to the forefront of feminist thought. Well not introduced exactly, more like pummeled. Here is what I have learned. I have something called. “white male privilege”. Essentially, whether I consciously or subconsciously acknowledge that privilege, it doesn’t matter. I have it and I need to “own it”. I’m pretty sure that means I have to fess up to it and wear it like a scarlet letter (although a white penis will do just fine). Believe me! I understand the importance of the concept. The dried blood tracking from my ears is proof positive of the difficulties and hard work it took me to reach that understanding.
But that’s as far as the feminists have taken me. I’m afraid to tell them but it’s like a false crescendo. It can’t be the end of the symphony. Okay, so I “own” white male privilege. What next? There must be more. Am I supposed to give it up someday? Is it like owning an unregistered gun? Will there be a turn-in-your-white-male-privilege amnesty day? I’d be more than happy to if I just knew when, where and to whom? Or come to think of it, maybe not. What takes its place? Or worse, who gets it next? Gee, maybe I should take advantage of it more consciously while I still have it.
Anyway, in the meantime, as I meander aimlessly, I’m going to refrain from saying stuff like, “Hey that Barbara Boxer, she sure has some pouch of brass nuggets on her.” I will also try to be more cognizant of this privilege I have and renounce it at every turn. It’s all I can do until I get further instructions.
You know, I can’t help but think if reincarnation happens, I might want to come back as an earthworm. They have both the male and female sex organs. When they mate they impregnate each other. Everything is “even up”. And the result is that they are a pretty happy bunch. You don’t hear about earthworms having male/female issues. Okay so they have other issues—fish hooks being a big one. But quite frankly, I’m not sure that is any worse; sometimes I think it is a whole lot better.
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In a man’s world there seems to be some sort of gross ignorance to the word ‘impotence’. Couples who have been trying to conceive for some time now might just try to evade this but it has been seen that relationship woes might arise due to sexual dysfunction in men. A study conducted by Boston University School of Medicine observed 1300 men aged 40 and 70, after studying their medical history, and found 52% of them facing male impotence had something to do with the general condition of their health.
Treatment of impotence
Today with technological breakthrough in the field of medicine, treating erectile dysfunction in men is no longer an issue. Urologists specializing in the functioning of kidney, bladder, prostate, penis and urethra are the right kind of people to approach for a cure of impotency. The treatment might vary from oral medication to implants or surgery etc. depending on the severity of the problem.
How does one know that he is facing impotency?
Almost all men fail occasionally to get an erection some time or the other. This is a normal situation as our fast paced lives tend to get stressful at times. However, if the erectile dysfunction seems to bother 25% of the time then one should seek medical help as it might be a case of male impotence. Men who face ED must know that they should not neglect the persisting problem and must consult a doctor as soon as possible rather than wait passively.
Impotency is not a disease!
The penis is a vascular organ which requires exercise. A healthy male will normally experience 3 to 4 erections during their sleep which may last an hour or more. During sexual stimulation blood flows through the several blood vessels leading to the penis the nerve endings prompt an erection. However, if it’s a case of male impotency this would not happen and erection would fail. This is a disorder in the functioning of penis which might be due to various reasons whether physiological or even psychological or due to some addiction like smoking and alcoholism.
Viagra and male impotency
Viagra burst the scene as a cure for male impotency. Lots of men who still consider buying Viagra online tend to escape going to a doctor to face an uncomfortable subject as this. However, this love pill though does magic to sustaining an erection during intercourse but fails to cure the root of the problem. Reports of death caused due to indiscriminate usage of Viagra without a doctor’s consultation has sure caused alarm worldwide.
Viagra is not meant for all men
An active ingredient called sidenafil citrate in Viagra is not suitable for men facing heart problems, hypertension, low blood pressure and other health complication which can only be confirmed by a doctor prescribing Viagra. Heart patients using nitroglycerine or nitrate-based drugs must not take Viagra as the mix might bring a deadly dip in blood pressure. Men with sickle cell anemia, leukemia or multiple myeloma should avoid the intake of this drug as it can permanently damage the penis.
Conclusion
50% to 60% of oral treatments like Viagra from Pfizer Pharnaceuticals have the largest share in US market. But the demand for Viagra is slowing down due to safe herbal options like shilajit, ashwagandha etc. available in the market.
But it always advisable to consult urologists for complete solution to the problem safely and as painlessly as possible.
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The Siriraj Medical Museums in Siriraj Hospital, Bangkok display exhibits relating to pathology, forensic medicine, parasitology, anatomy and the history of medicine in Thailand.
Siriraj Hospital is the first public hospital in Thailand established by King Rama V in 1886 and named after one of his sons who died of dysentery at the age of two. The Faculty of Medicine here, set up in 1890, is also the oldest medical school in Thailand.
Six separate museums make up the Siriraj Medical Museums:
Ellis Pathological Museum
Songkran Niyomsane Forensic Medicine Museum
Ouay Ketusingh Museum of History of Thai Medicine
Parasitology Museum
Congdon Anatomical Museum
Sood Sangvichien Prehistoric Museum & Laboratory
Let's start our tour of the Siriraj Medical Museums with the Ellis Pathological Museum named in honor of Professor A G Ellis, the first pathologist in Thailand who worked in the Pathology Department in 1921 and stayed on as Director of Siriraj until 1938.
The babies preserved here are either stillborn or dead shortly after birth. There're dissected sections of babies, Siamese twins showing their joined organs and babies born with one eye. Some have external or internal deformations arising from various diseases or with organs protruding outside the body.
Specimens of preserved organs used for pathological tests are displayed with organs infected by various diseases. Medical students were scribbling away in their books, though not all visitors were as enthusiastic. One visibly shaken woman visitor was seen sitting out the tour.
Our next stop in the tour of Siriraj Medical Museums was the Songkran Niyomsane Forensic Medicine Museum named after Professor Dr Songkran Niyomsane, a pioneer in forensic medicine who started the museum.
The latest addition to the museum records the efforts by Siriraj Hospital during the December 2004 tsunami, when pathology teams assisted in the disaster victim identification. The scenes are simply gruesome.
The rest of the displays cover skulls, bones, damaged organs and photographs of murder and accident cases used in investigations, including the preserved bodies of a couple of rapists/murderers!
I gather that the founder, Dr Songkran's skeleton is also on display in the museum, though I couldn't quite identify it!
The Ouay Ketusingh Museum of History of Thai Medicine started by Professor Ouay Ketusingh, who headed the Departments of Physiology and Phamacology, was started in 1979. The traditional Thai medicine shop display was a pleasant relief. Also featured are the traditional practice of child delivery by village midwives and the quaint practice of getting the new mother to sleep by the fire for quick recovery.
In the Parasitology Museum started in 1970 by Dr Vichit Chaiyaporn, Department of Parasitology, you'll be exposed to every conceivable form of parasite or worm infecting every movable form of edible life.
Lungworms, pinworms, roundworms, tapeworms, whipworms infecting livestock, fish, crustaceans, vegetables and viruses causing food poisoning are identified here. So are the mosquitoes that cause Elephantiasis, an enlargement of the leg and the scrotum.
If it's not what you eat, then pay heed to the venomous snakes, spiders, scorpions, centipedes and tarantulas.
The last two Siriraj Medical Museums are in the Anatomy block. The Congdon Anatomical Museum was started in 1927 by Dr Edgar D Congdon, Professor of Anatomy and father of modern Anatomy in Thailand.
Row after row of showcases display skeletons, skulls, organs, dissected sections, preserved nervous, muscular, arterial and venous systems. Being the oldest museum, the creaking floorboards added to the creepy air about the place.
By the time we reached the last of the Siriraj Medical Museums, the Sood Sangvichien Prehistoric Museum & Laboratory, it was closed for lunch. This was just as well, as we've had an overdose medical museums by then. As it turned out this museum, started in 1972 by Professor Dr Sood Sangvichien, Dean of the Faculty of Medicine, dealt with evolution!
For those keen on anatomy, pathology, forensic medicine, the Siriraj Medical Museums could probably be a wealth of information. These museums were in fact set up as resources centers for medical students.
If you can indifferent to preserved corpses, dissected sections, organs damaged by disease or violence, you'll probably be able to cope with the tour.
If you're not, we strongly suggest you skip the Siriraj Medical Museums and go straight for lunch.
If you really want to go there, here's how, map to the Siriraj Medical Museums.
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Gynecomastia affects an estimated 40 to 60 percent of men, as well as a number of adolescents. Many men avoid swimming or sporting activities because they have fat on their chests that makes it look like they have breasts. Gynecomastia is a condition in which firm breast tissue forms in males, causing an enlargement of the pectoral region to develop. Gynecomastia may affect one pectoral or both.
Gynecomastia is usually discovered at the onset of puberty. There is no known cause of gynecomastia, although certain drugs and medical problems have been linked with male breast over development.
If you are a man who is self-conscious about an over developed chest, breast-reduction surgery may be your solution. The size of the breasts is reduced by ultrasonic liposuction and excision to remove the excess glandular tissue. In extreme cases, excess skin may be removed. The result is a flatter, firmer, and better-contoured chest.
Dr. Delgado specializes in gynecomastia throughout Oakland, Santa Rosa, and San Francisco, California. He comments, “Gynecomastia can greatly improve your quality of life. My patients are no longer self-conscious or embarrassed about taking their shirt off in public, or engaging in any activity that they used to avoid.”
The surgery can take from 3 to 4 hours depending on the complexity of the procedure. Male breast reduction surgery is an outpatient procedure performed with general anesthesia. You will be able to rest following your surgery in the comfort of your own home.
After gynecomastia surgery, patients usually experience slight bruising, swelling and tenderness. It is advised that you rest for the remainder of the day following your surgery, and limit your activity for a couple of days. You may return to work in 5 to 7 days while avoiding strenuous activities for two to three weeks.
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The Forest
As we drove farther into the outskirts of Augsburg, looking out placidly across the top of cars, houses, and at the dogs running about, I got thinking, thinking how I felt being with Chris, about Chris. It was like I was cast into a spell, an enchantment, or perhaps a curse; very seldom did I ever feel like this. Normally I would feel like this only if I was in the presence of a great person, like my karate instructor in San Francisco, Gosei Yamauchi, or his father ‘The Cat’ Gogan, who was one of the few 10th degree black belts in the world. Normally I’d be high the whole next day. With Chris I felt the same way I knew tomorrow I’d be high all day, it was a natural high.
Once—I can’t remember when—I had read something about the poet Emily Dickinson, she was something like a recluse, but she made a poem indicating nature was her high, and I always remember that. How true this can be, grabbing the moment and cherishing it, absorbing it as if there was no tomorrow, and at the same time absorbing nature: the sounds and the heart beat mother earth, and sky; others humans, and the dogs and birds, all such things that at that moment surround you; they are all somewhat magical. I was learning, how to be a listener if anything and it entailed all things within your presence.
Chris was fully alive now, as I turned my head towards her delectation her steering wheel facing me, at which made the moment a little more interesting, as she felt good about me checking her out; a weary kind of sense, not defeat, just a good profile look; I thought dimly in my mind as she drove mile after mile: how could she afford to look so prim and proper all the time. Do her hair in a unique style, not a hair out of place, so it seemed. I guess in our own way we are all unique, I heard that someone say that someplace, not sure where.
An hour and a half had passed on by and she was still driving, and it was getting dark. She pulled into a wooded area; she said it was the outer rim of the Black Forest (otherwise known as the Eyebrow of the Woods), I think I heard of that forest in a fairytale book or at least that is where my mind said I got it from. An enchanting name, I must had said it my second self, that little person inside of all of us that we talk to: Black Forest, Black Forest…!
“So you see,” said Chris “…here we are!” She added her conclusive little smile to her face as she said that; as we entered the dark huge green forest, parking the car a little off to the side of a dirt road that lead into the deeper and more distant part of the forest, partly covered by trees and bushes now.
There was a chill in the air so I rolled up the window, as she turned on the radio for some music.
Very quickly and carefully she moved her thin reserved neck and shoulders into my area, she just starred at me, as if she was going to eat me up; as her left arm was lowered, it pulled out a bottle of Mosel-Saar-Ruwer wine, 1965 wine, -- I looked the bottle over 9.5% volume; I knew they had been making wine around this intriguing river and hilly area for close to 1700-years. It was good wine I had tasted it before, not sweat or dry, flowerily white wine to be exact.
“Now,” said Chris indignantly, but with the air of a certain point, “…let’s see what we can do with this battle.
We started to drink and laugh.
“Ah, yes,” I said to her, “you have a lovely profile.” She smiled and threw her head back.
“Well,” I thought out loud “… this is a good way to pass the night away, and begin romantic indecencies”-- she leaned over the center-divider of the bucket seats to kiss me. She opened her mouth, sunk her lips on mine, as she pulled her long legs to the under-part of the dash, she then started to unzip her zipper to her boots.
“This,” commented Chris “passes everything…I never did it in a car before.” She had drunk down 1/5 of the wine like a person drinking water.
“Chick,” said Chris, ”…come over here.”
I moved my body closer to hers. Everything seemed to be in the way. I could not back out of whatever was going to happen; and I knew what was in the makings.
She was starting to stretch her hands out: --her blouse went over her head, I just kept looking as she started to strip, I was growing, getting as hard as a pencil.
“Oh, damn Chick,” said Chris heartily as she touched my item. Just her saying that aroused me; then pulling off her bra, and her skirt up I seemed to become tranquilized somehow, my mind slipped to King Solomon, of all things, as he once defined the beauty of a woman’s body and how it was to measured for one’s pleasure by enjoying it fully, and this was all I wanted to do now—enjoy it, and I think Chris was feeling the same way for even though we were both a bit on the tipsy side we were fully aware of our responses, I had lost complete focus of the uncomfortable situation, as she did…
◊…now that she was almost completely stripped only her panties on, she curled up in a fetus position holding her legs and leaning back, then opened up her legs slowly… I thought what every on earth possessed her, yet who can predict women I told myself, and started to take off my cloths, quickly…getting out of this spill of sorts. I guess it is true, men like to observe, and women like to touch. I liked both. This was not dirty sex, this was pure sex, at its height, one might even say, it was like a painting; she painted the picture, she taught me how to enjoy what she had to offer.
“I’m going to get it all off in a minute,” I said, it was difficult working in this cramped space… she chuckled, “Slowly please, I can wait…”she softly said as she rested her head back and I caught my breath, that is what she wanted, that is, for me to calm down, yet remain hard and possessed with her offering: I think we both had multiorgasms
“I feel fine now –“ I said, adding, “cramped but fine…☺”
Chris opened up her arms I couldn’t back away after that, could I?
I told myself: I have a private room at the barracks…. Then said it out loud to her:
“Of course, -- next time…” said she, and we continued to make love for the third orgasm for me, for her, perhaps five or six.
We seemed to flop around the front seat finding the right position…’she‘s looking at me eeeeeeeee’, I told myself, I’m cramped, nothing to grab a hold of, her head leaning against the glass of the window. Without a word we continued: --my body heavy onto hers, my heart beating two-hundred ticks a minute, we both were hot, enmeshed in the moment, a lustful, and burning moment; I wanted to open the door, but feared the light going on and someone would see us, plus the air was cool, too cool. I had no escape we met each other’s eyes as I penetrated her. She looked again deep into my eyes as she tried to catch her breath, to make sure I was still alive I think. It was seemingly unfair for me to put her through this I thought, but the thought only lasted a half second, I found myself exploding … as my heart dropped to my feet, and again, and again, I exploded and burned as if I had opened myself up to a volcano; I had learned at that moment, the difference between happiness and pressure: happiness was listening to her talk before, and then came her smile, now the pleasure, sex; I hurt, this had never happened before.
“Nice evening, isn’t it?” I said as I started pulling her body closer to me.
“I hope you are not offended I am taking the lead?” said Chris.
“Not at all,” I said, adding, “I’ll catch up.”
“There are times,” said Chris, “when rules are made to be broken like now, them...mmm damn silly rules…” she pulled herself up a bit, “I stopped believing in those rules… this is one of those moments I want to remember…remember for a long time, even after I am dead.”
As we tried to untwist our bodies, we caught ourselves laughing at our odd situation. We had made love, and became a little more sensitive with each other…a little more possessive of each other, I guess that is the nature of things in a relationship, they are made to progress, or stop, one or the other, and it was never to take place again in the front seat of a Mustang I knew….
She laid her cheek against my hand.
“Chick.”
“Yes?”
“You realize don’t you, this can’t end here?”
“There’s no reason for it to end, is there?”
“No.”
She spoke some German words I didn’t understand, German mingled with English I should say: then somehow, she went silent…maybe she was taking time to remember the moment, digesting it; I didn’t know, nor did I want to try to guess, I just looked at her, her smile it seemed to promise something, grace; instinct was in it also, around her small enclosed eyes, as they opened and shut slowly they were weaving a web I do believe, “It won’t end here, I promise.”
Pleasant and agreeable-like a well-cultured woman she was, maybe too much for me, she opened the door, and dressed quickly, then got back in.
“Want a cigarette?” I asked, sitting up straight.
“No and neither do you. We are both restless it seems. Come over to me,” she started kissing me.
As she released her lips from mine, she sat upright now, pulled out a cigarette, lit it and started blowing smoke rings into the air.
“You know perfectly well, I’m very much attracted to you…yoouuuu… right?”
“I hope so, I feel the some way.”
“Luckily the wine deadens the bruises (discoloration).” I commented, she laughed and kind of stretched her back to put it back in place…”Me to,” she replied.
“I wish all relationships could start like ours, it is like saying let’s drop all the game playing and pretend we are on the fifth date, and cut the crap; I like you Chick, I like you very much…”
“The bruises will show up tomorrow,” I told Chris.
Kind of saying maybe we should go, but neither one of us seemed to be all that bothered with that so we simply started kissing again after her cigarette brake…it was a long and needed pause for me, for a second breathe, a refractory period I needed [from uninterrupted sex]; that is, having multiple orgasms drains a man. I’ve learned also, women don’t need this rest period; so in time I’d learn how to last longer, and perhaps stretch the orgasms thinner but again, longer (three hours at the most; and I did).
I thought in my head, she was having sex with me, and then that rich boyfriend she had; she was getting her multiorgasmic pleasures indeed, perhaps a secret to some women, for once they discover this, it is hard for any man to keep up with them, lest he be a superman of sorts. I did not even at that young age have the capacity to pass six organisms; five was my limit I learned. I was limp now; my penis had been as pointed as a scorpions tail a while ago.
As scary as it started out for me I thought my reactions afterwards was cool, I seemed to be letting things take their natural course. It was a dark and colorless evening. Grossly romanticized in such an unimpressive way (so I thought in the back of my mind), yet Miss Chris was perfect.
I thought to myself: maybe she might be annoyed with my lovemaking… I guess every man wants to please the woman, wife, girlfriend, the one he is making love to, or should want to please her, but most don’t; how can they, they pop too quickly. This is a fact, I’ve talked to men, and when they say they go so quick, no woman could get it on in that time period. A woman taught me how to hold myself from climaxing too early, thus allowing the woman to catch up—and therefore, allowing my female mate to get it on and enjoy. I know this evening went a little fast, but Chris was modest about it, like that other woman who had taught me, helped me, to help her, so we both could enjoy each other more; as my slowing down kept my penis hard longer, allowing her pleasure zone to become wider. This was something of the case in hand, but not completely.
Most men think they make love better drinking, but it’s far from the truth. Most men do not know how to make love, no one taught them, so all they do is f*ck, and that is not love, that is, if anything, a quick climax, like eating a big fat burger, and wiping your mouth in its enjoyment and then leaving the café only to find out: you got indigestion, and had you went to a nicer restaurant, ate slower, you’d never forget the meal.
I have experimented with that theory, and it is nine-minutes verse four-hours, I say four hours, but I knew in my head it was only one time I lasted four hours, two and a half was the norm.
I was thinking now—as Chris kissed me—how I owe some women a bit of gratitude for allowing me to have my pleasure and not returning it to them; that’s the caretaker in a woman I think. But women just don’t know men can learn. And men are too bull-headed to let women teach them what pleases them. I had learned a good lover was worth his weight in gold and even maybe a little more: sometimes they can be irresistible.
One could hardly tell her it wasn’t hastily done, our sex (to me it was) for it was, but she seemed to understand the circumstances, and we need not prove anything today, only allow our bodies to be sanctioned to the other. So I think we both felt. Lovemaking would improve as time went on.
“I’m afraid my lover, we will have to find better accommodations next time,” Chris said, smiling at me.
“Yes,” I hesitated, “absently,” I hesitated-- “I feel the same way.”
“It’s a little hard in such a cramped car luckily we are both a little tipsy….”
“I’m afraid I’m not, somehow I sobered up when you took your blouse off.” She smiled, with a grin.
“Yes. I sense you have, do you really like me Chick?”
“You are growing on me. And what is there not to like?”
She was like a schoolgirl at times, needing to be encouraged, to grow up, and needed to be admired. But she didn’t need permission to live, she was taking that—but I’m learning to appreciate women more, I told myself, and it seems the more I show appreciation, the more they respect me, and to be quite frank with myself, I need respect. And why not … the world will give it, if you demand it, and if not, let that part of the world go; so my second self, my mind’s eye, told me.
But then as I looked at her, if she really felt she was on death row, with cancer, maybe I was just a remedy for a while, and if so, so what, maybe I needed a remedy to make it through my time here in Germany; so seemed just to me.
8
The Spider and
The Web
A warm-wind had picked up it seemed, and April and May in Germany was a paradise of light-cool sunrays, it was a spring never to forget, Chris and I were growing on one another, like white on rice. More community drinking fairs were picking up and Chris and I tried to make a few, drink it up and eat and just go with the flow; it was a good time for living.
Chris and I were known throughout the guardhouse-barracks as lovers and a heat wave at that. She seemed to have a charm with my soldier friends, and often drove her German boyfriend’s Mercedes car to the gate, and about, showing off kind of, not only to me, but it seemed at times going out of her way to show it to the other guards. Most of my friends thought she had two cars, I simply did not up date them, if they were not in my way of thinking or inner circle—why squander my time; and in most cases they didn’t have a need to know; but Ski and a few other of my friends knew the truth. I felt: plus, I felt: why not let Chris make an impression at the guard shacks, if it helps her ego so be it. I do not think I was envious, rather amused. I’m sure somewhere along the line I’d have to deal with envy, but who at my age is envious, for what, I have a lifetime to catch up.
She flirted with the guards, and they all thought it cool. At night, if I had to work, she would bring me by a sandwich while on duty; in one way she got the guys a little jealous, or in lack of a better word, annoyed. And sometimes she would simply walk into barracks, which had about fifteen-guards some running around half naked from the shower room to their room, while others went visiting. She’d come knocking on my door. She’d spend the night with me, it was an improvement from the car, and for some reason we only went over to her house once in the following two months. I knew we were not fooling anyone at the guard-barracks, but we pretended to be secret about it anyway.
