I have fallen in love with a Man’s Hands. The pressure he uses to press into mine. The way his fingers search up the cuff of my long sleeved shirt. Delving against my skin in the sensitive zone of my inner wrists. A tight hold on my hand he presses a thigh against my leg. His warmth plays with my fingers.
I was hired to help clear a dead woman’s home of her papers. There were many. Some stacked, some filed; most covered in dust. ”Figure out bills need to be paid. What can be thrown away. What is important to save.”
She died alone. With her dogs. Fell, hit her head, bled and then dead. I too was alone as I drove up her country drive. Turned off the alarm, pushing open the door to the smell of life gone rotten. The blood stain was large on the green shag carpeting. I was left thinking about how she fell, the crack of the skull, the reaction of her toy terriers. The moments that drifted by for her as she struggled across the floor to reach the phone. She never got there, but the length of the brown blood stain shows she tried. This room was not my work area. Get to her study. Down the hall, across the house. Get to the desk.
In the glob of papers, I decided the credit cards were the easiest point of attack. One look and I saw a kindred spirit. A QVC addict. I am an Ebay girl myself however I recognized the compulsive spending. There was the Joan River’s special blend nail polish, Murad lipsticks, Philosophy Divine Eye Kit, Professional Tweezer Kit, Josie Maran body softener, St. Tropez Tanning Kit. Yes she and I were cut from the same cloth. Eighty-two years old vs. my thirty-five, but we knew a good deal was there to buy. Her family was cleaning out the bathrooms, closets, drawers and bags of throw away lined the halls. Bags and bags of QVC treasures.
I made phone calls to close accounts. Talked with supervisors to forgive debt. Spied into her Scrap Book with faded clippings tracing a small theater career and attempts at film. Used her bathroom and found my temptation. Michael Maron, Mohave Magic lipstick. There on the uncleared counter. Two shades laying amongst the self tanning packets. Oh yes and fine lipsticks they were. She had used both of them but plenty left behind. They had been on her lips. Lips dried by time. Lips now dead. Lips now buried. I tried the colors. Put them on my lips. Loved her color sense. I put on a dead woman’s lipstick. I think she would do the same with me.
Chatting with a friend today who thought that my “life sounds great.” And I thought, Mmmm my life has been a long story to create. The ins and outs of creating a path. Sometimes I am good with the machete and sometimes I get lost in a blade of grass. Right now I am staring at the blade of grass. Lost in its beauty and not moving forward. I sit on the path.
Being self employed…keeping up the motivation to take action each day. Action is the only way to move forward with self responsibility. Inaction: a date I witnessed at Markt in NYC. 20 something year olds sit. One man and One woman. During the meal he has 2 some sort of cocktails, she sips on Diet Coke. He looks at his iPhone, she keeps her legs crossed at the ankles and rubs her thighs every now and again. She stares straight ahead. He looks around when he is not looking at iPhone. Food Comes! Hey a subject of conversation! No. Alas he eats his salad extraordinaire and she her burger. Ah, come on, you have to talk about the food! Time to pay the Bill. He treats. Bill is paid. She rises and picks up a memento match box. He takes her hand. The Ave. of the Americas absorbs them.
OK. I admit it. All three books of 50Shades of Grey. OK. I admit it. They were/are stimulating to me. Why? The skill of the lover. A man who has taken the time to learn a woman’s body and has no fear of discovering every part of her. Is not that what we all want? Women and men? A person who is interested in putting in the energy and imagination into discovering all of ourselves physically and emotionally.