As I sat here trying to think of something to write, I realized I had something really dear to my heart to post about. Writing. So many of us doing it, so many books to choose from. We try and write everyday, but what if you couldn’t. What if something stood in your way?

Recently, thanks to my darling, yet to be born, newest son, I had to ponder that question. You see, I had nausea and vomiting real bad, and all I could think of was…vomiting. So for five months, no writing.

Then recently, the vomiting lessened(not totally, but some) and I began to write again. OMG! You have no idea what a thrill it is to be able to write again when you haven’t written in so long. It was exceptional! I was in seventh heaven. I love to write!

Another question, what if no one liked your writing, or let’s say a select few. Would you still go on writing, or would you quit. I’d have to say, thanks to the myriad of voices screaming in my head for release, I’d have to continue to write anyway. But a true writer will continue to write and perfect their craft until they have something that people will want to read. We can’t all be J.K. Rowling or Danielle Steel, but I have a fan, and her name is Lisa G! And for right now, she’ll do!

As I start to write this blog it is a month early.  But things that have gone on in the last while are pressing on me and I feel the need to voice what I can now so you can read it later.

I just finished watching Sex in the City the movie with my daughter who will be 18 in less than 4 weeks.  In it Carrie and Mr Big are getting married.  Things go crazy and if you have not watched it then I suggest you go to your local library and borrow it like we did.  But it made me think.  In the last couple of months I seriously considered getting back together with my ex.  It got to the point where I had found an apartment here for us and he was due to be here within the next 2 weeks when he informs me that he is not coming.  The kick in the gut was enough to down me and make me wonder if love will ever really happen to me.  Anyone that knows me, knows what a kind heart’d person I am.  I have spent years trying to get someone in my life that can love me for me and put up with my quirkiness.  Every time I come even close it feels like the rug has been pulled out from underneath me.  Harder each time it happens.

By the time this is up for all to see, I will be 37 years old.  Not far from the 40’s that the girls on Sex in the City are during the movie.  When do we decide to make our own rules for life instead of following what everyone else thinks is “normal”.  I am now and was raised Christian so all the people associated with that keep telling me that I have to be married to have a sex life.  I have tried that route.  It does not seem to work for me.  Now I want a life that includes God, a good man and my family.  Who says that I have to be married to the guy for it to be good, to be right?  Yes I want my daughter to wait for marriage, or at least for someone that will love her for all her unique qualities.  To be loved and not used as an item for some guy to get his rocks off with.  I have been in that position.  But that is another blog entirely.

In the movie, Carrie hits Mr Big with her wedding flowers and yells at him about how she just knew he was going to do this to her.  I sat watching it and thinking it is a good thing my ex is not here cause that is what I would have wanted to do to him.  Beat him over the head with something and tell him how pissed I am and how I just knew he would do this to me yet again.  I mean come on, how many times do we have to go through the same thing before we start to learn.  Apparently I have not hit that mark yet in my life.

I talk to the people online and we talk about writing and life and all the things that go on in every day life.  My most favorite author (at this time) in her blog talks quite often about feeding her muse.  About what it takes to keep her and her muse happy and in working condition.  I will admit that my personal muse is not into writing.  Hell the reviews I do and my blogs are usually the extent of my ability to bring things to life.  My personal muse, and yes I do have one, falls more into crafts and such.  I love to watch a project come to life in my hands…be it an afghan for a friend or a child, or needlepoint that I can use for myself or give as a gift to someone I care about.  I have even gone so far as to take up sewing cause I feel the need to do something in that area.  I have enough crafting things to keep me busy for a long time if I really worked at it.  I have spent thousands of dollars on supplies, many of which have been in storage for years at my mothers house.  In time they will get used.  It all depends on how the muse hits me at any given point in time.  For me it is no different than an author that has many projects he or she is working on at any given time.

Here lately since my life fell apart again, I have fought to figure out what makes me happy.  What do I need to do to keep my muse and myself feed and functioning in top condition.  As I figure that out I hope that my life will start to fall into place for me.  I am hoping that I might have found not one but TWO jobs that I can do.  One is sewing Kevlar vests for security personal.   So that would fall into my love of making things.  Things that will be used to protect the very people that keep us safe.  The other is with Pepsi Bottling Group as a part-time night and weekend driver.  I absolutely love being behind the wheel of an 18 wheeler.  I love that big diesel engine and the vibration of the truck as I move things along.  Both would allow me to feed myself emotionally and financially it could put me into a position where I can support myself for the first time in too long.  It has been way too many years since I had a place of my own.  A place where I could do what I wanted when I wanted.  Where I  did not have to worry about pissing someone else off and them making me leave.  I want my daughter to learn that she can do it all for herself.  That a man is not the be all to end all answers to her problems.  She has been through so much in her young life that I am surprised many days that she is still sane.

How in the world do you feed your muse?  What does it take to keep him or her happy and willing to work with you?  Mine seems to enjoy the thrill of giving something to someone and seeing their face light up at the thing I have made by hand.  Too many people now a day do not take the time to make something by hand.  I think that is why I love books so much.  You guys, many of whom I consider my friends, put your heart and soul into creating something that for me is just as alive as it is for you.  I find myself many days coming out of a book and wondering just where that fascinating world disappeared to?   When I write a review I give my best to it, or I do not want to do it.  At times I wonder why I am still doing it more than a year after I started.  Do authors really care about what little ole me thinks of their work?  Does it really help another reader to find something to read?  When I give a critique on something I do not feel is working, will the author take it into advisement or think that I am just a hater that is tearing their work apart?  I love hearing back from an author I have done a review for and hearing “Oh thanks so much for that review.”  It means the world to me to hear a THANK YOU from time to time.

Since I started this blog entry much has changed yet again in my life.  My ex and I are so NOT getting back together, a guy from my past got up the courage to contact me and here in the next week will be moving to FL to be with me, my daughter has turned 18 and is finding the courage herself to put her foot down on what she wants.  Her boyfriend came for the weekend.  We found out why he has not come sooner…he is now stationed in Virginia and is much more than an hour drive away.  She has decided that she wants to move in with him, now I am not happy on that area, I wish that she would wait longer but at least at the moment she is not looking at leaving tonight (3/28)when he leaves to go back to work.  No I do not want her to leave me, I just got her back but on the other hand I want her to do what will make her happy.  How do I explain to her that yes I do want her happiness.  She is so use to everyone putting her down and forcing her to do what they want that she just automatically jumps to that feeling now no matter what is said.  Everyone is against her… Maybe it is part of growing up, maybe it is part of the problems she has and is facing head on, or maybe she is just being a teenager with raging hormones?  Who knows…I know I do not know.  I know I remember being her age and just “knowing” that I would die without her father in my life.  I remember being willing to defy my parents to be with him.  I remember leaving their house against their wishes at 18 so that we could be together.  But I also remember calling a few short weeks later pregnant and alone and just wanting to come home cause I was so ill.  I remember my father telling me that if I did not do things the way they wanted they would take my daughter away from me and force me to see her raised as my sister instead of as my daughter.  I remember fighting for years to make ends meet.  I remember the heartache of losing my children because I made bad choices.  I do not want her to go through the same things.  I want her to have a better life than I did.  I think that is something any GOOD parent wants in life.  For their child to have a better life than we did growing up.

I have started a kewl new job working for Pepsi.  I am a transport driver.  This means I haul loads from plant to plant or distribution warehouse.  The pay is good…it has health insurance…but it is only part time.  My boyfriend is leaving South Dakota on April 5th to come down here.  He will have to live in a tent or in a homeless shelter until we can come up with the money to move into an apartment.  The good thing is that between the two of us the split cost is so much less than it would be if I had to fit the bill alone.  I am nervous about him coming.  He is giving up a job up there and a place to live ( no matter how unhappy it is) to be with me.  It shocks me at times to know that someone can care enough about ME to do this.  I hope I earn that love and faith that he is putting in me.

The sewing job did not pan out.  I guess my casual sewing was not what they were looking for.  The temp agency that called me about it is working to find me work though.  I have just having to have it during the daytime instead of at night.  I want to keep my evenings open for Pepsi.  I wish I knew that they could give me around 1200 or 1300 miles a week…then I would not worry about any other work at all.  But until I have some idea of what I will average a week I have to keep looking for something else to help pay the bills.  Hopefully with the boyfriend here things will start to look up seriously!!!

I’m excited about the release of Iron Horse Rider Three. Now you can purchase all three books in my Iron Horse Rider Series, with gorgeous covers by the incredibly talented M E Ellis. ~Adelle Laudan

Iron Horse Rider One

Blurb:

After losing his wife in a terrible motorcycle accident, Shane flees from everything and everyone that reminds him of Kelly. He discovers solace in a summer Micmac camp, and with the aid of Chief Gray Owl and the beautiful Tia, Shane’s heart begins to heal. However, even paradise can turn chaotic. To save Tia from a man she fears, Shane is sent on a quest. Throughout his journey, he learns that sometimes friendship comes from the most unusual circumstances, that love never dies, and anything’s possible when you’re riding in the wind.

“When Adelle explains Shane’s feelings while riding, you can see in your mind where he is, and you can almost feel the wind in your Face.” ~ L J James – AmericanBikerX.com

Iron Horse Rider Two

Blurb:

Bikers, gypsies, and natives… three very different cultures are brought together when Tia and Shane join a caravan of travelling Romani on their way back to the mountains. They are introduced to a world of fire breathers, belly dancers, and crystal balls. Not all of Tia’s Micmac family are happy about it, which puts her in grave danger. Will Shane come to the lovely Tia’s rescue? Can the ghosts of his past finally rest in peace so he can love again, or is he destined to a life alone riding in the wind?

“The well-paced plot of Iron Rider 2 will captivate the reader throughout this beautiful story. This edition provides an absorbing look at how people of different cultures sometimes struggle to understand one another.” ~ Night Owl Reviews

Iron Horse Rider Three

Blurb:

News of Tia’s pregnancy gives Shane reason to celebrate. Unfortunately, not everyone is as happy about this turn of events. When a powerful evil presence descends upon the unsuspecting Micmac camp, Shane joins forces with the spirit world to confront this threat and defend all he has come to know and love.

Is Shane strong enough to face such a merciless entity, or will he lose his life protecting the people he loves, including that of Tia and his unborn child?

Shane and Tia’s romance will take you on a journey of poignant emotion, beautiful settings, and leave you wondering what new experience is just around the corner.~ Faith Bicknell-Brown~Author

I’m holding a contest at Belt Drive Betty’s Blog. Belt Drive Betty is the owner/publisher of The Busted Knuckle Chronicles.
I am giving away 1 signed print copy of all three books & 1 ecopy of all three books.

Contest ends tomorrow, Sunday March 28th
Belt Drive Betty’s Blog

Wishing you Miles of Smiles

Adelle ‘Legs’ Laudan

My Website

Iron Horse Rider Series

Sex

by Nix Winter

I love sex.

I mean.. who doesn’t, given an unbiased, non-judgmental option to answer that question.

I can sit here at my desk, lick my finger and run it over my lower lip, just thinking about the possibility of being touched by another human being, being desired, and a shiver goes through me, rippling sensation, pleasure before pleasure even happens.

Now we’re complicated creatures, humans. We’ll screw ourselves over even when we’re trying not to.

This one immediate moment gets lost in meanings and the future and the past, and that which should be just delicious becomes the specter of what we fear or desire and sometimes it’s hard to know which is which.

I imagine there are people for which sex is simple. Tab A into Slot B or C, or M, and it’s all good, all happy, and who cares what shadows are just beyond. When I try to get my mind around that – I just can’t do it.

Maybe there are just too many shadows, too many knots around sexuality for me.

Shall I tell you another secret?

BDSM has been my kink for getting around those shadows and knots for years. I could submit or resist, as the case may be, and my Dom is still the focus holding me in the present – I got back to that unfiltered sensation like when I traced my finger across my lip… just sensation.

I’ve been trying to figure out how to get to that sensation bit, without the kink bit, for a long time. Not that I don’t like kink, cuz I do, but I don’t want to be limited.

I imagine sexuality being a language, like a dance maybe, between people.  You know what I like even more than pleasurable physical sensation? I like feeling connected to someone. I like being seen for who I am and accepted. Now this is a kind of new concept, at least to me.  I’m much more used to giving someone sexuality, and hoping for tolerance and acceptance in return, like I could pay for love with pleasure. I guess I do the same with my books… it really stifles me. I need money > I put sex into the story > I expect people to buy the book.

From the moment that I first encountered this idea of knowing and being known… it’s grown into a craving. To pair knowing with touching, sensation with knowledge… that is getting to be my new kink.

Though… kink itself kind of squashes this genuine knowing, in a way. It doesn’t always have to be a squash… just sometimes, if it’s more script than seduction.

For me, kink was about rules, in a way. Those rules gave me safety when coming out of a very abusive past. Now rules just feel like a way not to know me, to distance me from the interaction.  Rules, expectations….  When I was a little kid, I’d find some interaction or pleasant event… and I’d seriously try to make it happen again. I’d day dream about wanting the teacher to say I did a good job again, exactly like she’d just done. I’d want some other kid to say hi to me again, like if that couldn’t happen just like it had, I’d never get anything good again.

I’m not a little kid anymore.

Every day is new and different. The sensation that appealed yesterday might not be the flavor for today.

I want to live forever.

Did I mention?

In forever, I expect there will be a lot of growth, change, exploration. Today, the world looks bright and full of wonderful potential for great sexual experience! No rules. No script. Happening when it happens.

“Literature is my Utopia. Here I am not disenfranchised. No barrier of the senses shuts me out from the sweet, gracious discourses of my book friends. They talk to  me without embarrassment or awkwardness. “ Helen Keller

What is it that makes me different? Am I unique in any way?

I am deaf. Not completely deaf, but I am classed as ‘legally deaf’ with a hearing loss of over 90% in both ears. One-on-one, I can function relatively well with the help  of two super duper hearing aids. My hearing loss is progressive, so as you can well imagine, I treasure each day I can hear things like, a bird singing outside my  window,  or my grand daughters’ laughter.

So what does my hearing loss have to do with writing? Truth be known, more than you might think.

During my time as a published author I’ve learned, for me, writing a book is the easy part. Things tend to get a little trickier when it comes to the next step, promoting my books. Promoting online is my preferred venue, simply because my hearing loss isn’t an issue here.

My difficultly comes into play with public speaking, radio interviews, book signings and the like.  One on one it’s not too bad. I’ve become prolific at reading expressions. Put me in a crowded room and try to talk to me, you might as well stand beside a plant and strike up a conversation. I have done a couple of book signings and at times things become strained. I usually bring someone familiar with me.  Since I already know their voice and mannerisms, they can act as a middleman, which helps tremendously.  People with accents often get offended when I ask them to repeat themselves.  I try to tell them there is no offence intended, yet they still feel the need to yell the same sentence to me. This makes me laugh. It doesn’t matter how loud you yell at deaf person, it all sounds the same.

“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see” Mark Twain `

Will my being ‘differently abled’ keep me from venturing out in public? No.

Marlee Matlin is a deaf actress and truly an inspiration to all deaf men and women; you might remember her from her role in Children of a Lesser God which earned her an academy award for Best Actress.  She also plays a part in the series, The L Word.  More recently she was a contestant on Dancing with the Stars. Talk about inspiring.  If I am feeling overwhelmed or frustrated I read this quote I keep at my desk.

Marlee says, “Every one of us is different in some way, but for those of us who are more different, we have to put more effort into convincing the less different  that we can do the same things they can, just differently”.

It is my hope that one day someone will be inspired by me to strive for something they think is unattainable.  Like Marlee says, “We can do the same things you  can, just differently.”

I am thrilled to be on board here at FAB. I invite you all to drop in and say hello at one of the stops on my book tour. You will find the calendar on my  blog http://adellelaudan.com/blog

Are you like me?

Before you say “Hell no!” and run away, let me explain. As a writer of erotic fiction, I’m constantly making word choices. That’s true of any writer, of course, but we in the erotica field are often making word choices to elicit certain reactions–we want to turn people on, or, at very least, NOT turn them off.

There are so many words to choose from when we’re describing body parts or physical acts, and I’m sure we all have our go-to words. I tend to go with “cock” for penis, often “pussy” but these days also “slit” for vagina, “tits” for breasts, and “asshole” for…asshole.

These are the standards, commonly employed in our field. They add to the mood and dynamic we’ve created between characters without being so weird or shocking they jolt the reader out of the moment.

But, if you’re like me, there are euphemisms you love but never use. For me, I happen to get a kick out of the word “schlong.” I think that word is hilarious! Have I ever used it in my work? No. Why? It’s too funny. If I were writing a comedy piece, I might find a place for it, but otherwise it’s probably going to raise more eyebrows than libidos. Look what happens to this excerpt from my menage story THE BIRTHDAY GIFT when I replace “cock” with “schlong:”

As Meredith drew her lids open, her heart nearly stopped. On a built-in bench at the opposite end of the isolated deck sat Richard and Ash. No clothes. Two men—two strangers—naked in Joyce’s backyard? A flutter of nervous excitement turned Meredith’s body into a battlefield. Leave! No, stay. Watch! No, go.
But how could she leave when, just a stone’s throw across the deck, Richard’s hard SCHLONG surged toward the well-defined muscles of his tight stomach? A tingling sensation culminated at the summit of Meredith’s lower lips when Ash reached over to stroke Richard’s rigid SCHLONG. Was this an unwelcome act? Apparently not! Richard’s magnificent hairless chest glimmered with sweat as he swept a hand across Ash’s brawny thigh. Close your mouth, young lady! You’ll catch flies.

Makes me titter more than anything else. I’ve got another one, too. I happen to really enjoy the word “snatch,” but, again, it comes across a little men’s mag for a lot of erotic encounters. Thinking back, I’m not sure if I’ve used “snatch” in my work. It’s a distinct possibility, but there are occasions where it just doesn’t work. Here’s a snatchified excerpt from my pansexual (m/f, f/f, f/f/m) novella ONDINE, which comes out on March 29th, 2010:

Welcoming Yvette’s touch, she hiked up the skirts of her gown with desperate determination. Moth to flame, Yvette’s hand cupped her SNATCH over her new silk panties. Cupped and squeezed. Beneath her bridal lingerie, sweet juices flowed. Surrendering herself completely to the woman in black, Ondine laid limp beneath the torrent of kisses. Whatever Yvette wished for, Ondine desired.

Forcing her satin-gloved hand beneath Ondine’s panties, Yvette plunged impassioned fingers into her silken SNATCH. The nectar flowed faster as she rubbed those tender lips. Yvette broke away to watch in the mirror, mesmerized as she massaged the bride’s SNATCH, but Ondine had waited far too long for that kiss. She wouldn’t let it slip away so easily. Grasping Yvette’s head in her hands, she brought the girl’s lips to hers and kissed them in a frenzy. There wasn’t much time. She had to get married soon.

Again, not quite the effect I was going for.

Oh, I just thought of another one–motherfucker. I LOVE that word. I USE that word. My editors, on the other hand, don’t love it quite so much and tend to gently sweep it under the rug. I almost never get away with that baby. “It’s too porny.” Well, strap me on and ride me like a pony, because I guess I’ve got a porny side too! LOL

So, again I’ll ask: are you like me? Do you have any of these funny or crass euphemisms you’d like to use but self-censor?

Do share!

Cheers,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!

It doesn’t seem like two minutes ago when I had my first story published – June 2008 and, given that I’m hardly a spring chicken, that feels like the bat of an eyelid. Back then I was a newbie, for which read noob, numpty, innocent abroad. Luckily I wasn’t too old to tighten my grip on my chair for a ride along a learning curve of roller-coaster like gradient. 

Now I feel like a bit of an old hand, even if what I know could still be writ large on the back of a postage stamp. I’ve been involved with the I Do Two project and I’ve been the one (me, the feet-just-under-the-table gal) explaining to the new kids about Amazon rankings and categories. So what have I learned this last couple of years? Here’s a random list: 

1) Patience is a virtue.

We live in an age where we’re increasingly conditioned to having whatever we want ‘right now’ and that’s not how the world always works.

We have to wait to see if that piece of promo we did has made a difference to sales.

We have to wait for publishers to get back to us (although I don’t think it’s impolite to check, after a prolonged silence, that the story you sent did actually arrive – e-mails can go astray).

We have to wait for Amazon or Mobipocket or whoever to load up the information/cover art/categories. They have loads of authors and loads of books, not just us to deal with but it’s easy to forget that fact and want to slap the computer. 

2) An author is a brand. Barbara Cartland was often ridiculed for the way she dressed, but she did it in part because that’s what her readers expected – her image demanded the shocking pinks, the frills and flounces. We don’t necessarily have such a high profile, but what image do we produce of ourselves on the internet? Daft? Foul mouthed? Happy? Belligerent? (See picture for me – when I posted this at my Live Journal, several people commented “That’s not how we imagined you at all!”)

3) Yahoo has a mind of its own. When doing a chat at a yahoo group the message you sent one minute ago is likely to show up now, while the message you sent an hour ago still hasn’t shown up. This makes you look a total drip when you’re saying ‘Hello!’ and introducing yourself when you’ve been gabbling away for ages.

 4) Nothing is logical. You do a chat and nothing happens to the rankings for your books on Amazon. You do nothing at all and they’re heading up the charts Beatle-like. You get an inspiration and you’ve no time to write. You have all the time in the world and the muse has gone AWOL.

 5) Just when I think I understand something technological, some bugger ‘improves’ it and I’m back to square one.

 Happy Monday

 Charlie

Fast Friends by Gail Roarke at Cobblestone Press.

Blurb:

Stan Ryan is pleased to find a lovely new neighbor, Rachel Hartman, moving in across the street. The attraction between them is immediate, powerful, and entirely mutual.

They have a number of interests in common, including running. They also share a competitive streak. Stan’s metaphorical pursuit of Rachel becomes literal when she agrees to a friendly wager.

If he can catch her, he can have her. But first he must catch her….

Excerpt:

Stan Ryan stepped out onto his front lawn dressed for a run. It was early on a clear, bright, autumn morning in Denver. The sky was bright but the neighborhood was still in shadow, the sun barely peeking above the houses to the east. Across the street, a U-Haul truck was parked at the curb. Stan remembered seeing the SOLD sign go up a few weeks ago. It looked as if his new neighbors had arrived.

Stan did a few limbering up exercises while he observed the new arrivals. He wondered how many were his new neighbors—there were two women and one man unloading boxes from the truck. Good odds that at least one of the new arrivals was a woman—and both of them looked good.

Deciding that there was no time like the present, Stan strolled across the street to introduce himself.

The large young man and one of the young women were carrying a sofa down the ramp from the truck. The man was over six feet and well muscled. His companion was of average height with shoulder-length dark hair, and didn’t look nearly strong enough to carry her end of the sofa.

“Can I help you with that?” Stan stepped in next to the young woman. She gave him a wary glance, then smiled.

“Sure,” she said. “You live around here, I take it.”

Stan grabbed hold of the sofa, sharing the load with the woman. “Right across the street. Stan Ryan. I’d offer to shake, but…”

“I understand,” the young woman said. “Leah Wright.”

“So, we’re going to be neighbors?” The possibility didn’t displease Stan.

Leah smiled. The man holding the other end of the sofa laughed. “No, not us.” She glanced toward the open front door of the house. “She’s your new neighbor.”

Stan let his gaze follow hers. A tall young woman with red hair exited the house. She was dressed in a black warm-up suit and ball cap. A red ponytail was threaded through the opening of the cap in back, bobbing with every step. Even at this distance, her green eyes were arresting.

Read the rest of this entry »

Cheers!
Giselle Renarde

Canada just got hotter!

http://www.freewebs.com/gisellerenarde

http://twitter.com/GiselleRenarde

I’ve had a secret lover for over forty years. I call him a lover for want of a better word.

His name is Lawrence Goodbear and I’ve never even met him.

Before my father passed away, we often thumbed through the pages of his World War II album. I met my secret love as I browsed the photographs Daddy had taken while stationed in Okinawa. Smiling faces of happy-go-lucky soldiers in all their black and white glory. So happy-go-lucky, in fact, you’d never know they were there on big business—-war. Among these photos was a gorgeous, well-built Adonis named Warren. Then there was a handsome boy with a winning smile named Ortega. And then, all alone, gazing up at me from a distant world….Lawrence Goodbear.

There he stood with a slight, knowing grin, his leg jauntily propped on the ruins of an old concrete set of steps. One dark hand draped over the concrete and the other hand rested on a slender hip. A ring flashed in the sun on his left hand—one of those forged metal rings the fellows used to make in high school shop class. You know the ones. All the guys wore them.

Daddy knew little about Lawrence’s personal life, only remembered him to be American Indian and thought he might have hailed from Oklahoma. All I know is that, the second I locked on his photo, he immediately became my World War II Valentino with his ethereal features and ravens hair. So lithe, yet with such subtle power in those lissome limbs.

Although his face was a portrait of serenity and gentility, Daddy said Lawrence couldn’t hold his booze very well and became really rowdy when he drank. My Oklahoman Don Juan often grabbed the diminutive Japanese cooks around their necks with a good-natured grip, thumping them on the tops of their heads with his knuckles. As Daddy told this, I pictured it so vividly. I’d already fallen in love with his dark, gentle beauty but the vision of his rambunctious shenanigans just made my “crush” deeper.

That photograph of Lawrence Goodbear is over sixty years old. Yet as those soft dark eyes stare up from the sepia depths, he’s NOW, real. He may be long passed. He may still be among us. Somewhere. I don’t know. If he is still living, he’s more than likely no longer the supple, young Michelangelo’s David from the photo. That’s the beauty of photographs, though. For me, he still is the young, handsome youth captured on a sunny day in Okinawa, and always will be.

Like I said, the moment I saw the photo, I fell in love with him. For me, he’s an enigma that I’d give anything to have known, to have been around when the photo was taken, to have heard his voice, to see how tall he really was, known if his skin was as soft as it looked, if his hair was as thick as it seemed. Was there some girl’s initials engraved on his ring? Did he have a girlfriend? Or was he married?

So, if he’s still out there somewhere, if time has claimed its right to his youth, I’m still crazy about him. If he’s gone on to a final resting place, I’m still crazy about him. My secret love. Lawrence Goodbear.