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  • I don’t get out much. Most of my hangout friends are male. I’m married with children. This guy getaway thing presents quite a dilemma.

    Over the years, I’ve developed moderately reasonable excuses to getaway all alone. “I’m going to a concert. You’ll hate it. You hate noise. Besides, I need a babysitter. Josh the jailbird can’t be left home alone. I’ll be gone all weekend. The concert’s in St. Louis. I'll leave Missouri Sunday evening.”

    So, this weekend I had a blast with my guy friends. Pals I haven’t seen in close to twenty years.

    In the presence of my old friends, three guys, two of whom love each other madly, and sometimes sadomasochistically, God and Father Time were at war.

    In the eyes of an old lover, the other never grows old. Mine looked the same only stronger. Handsome. Beautiful. Defiant. And they all swore I looked the same too. Inherently wealthy are those men who treasure women with epicurean lies.

    I've grown older. It’s been twenty years. He and I passed the mirror. We stopped, looked and he convinced me to agree. At that moment, in that time and that space, I was the same girl he knew twenty years ago. I looked deep and saw something I hadn’t seen in a while.

    We stayed hours together, wide awake, seduced by euphoria and cosmically catatonic. DeJesus and his lover disappeared.

    Finally he and I were alone with the undaunted craving we reconciled as twenty somethings.

    He held me. I sat in his lap and faced him. Tasted kindled banana leaf and Moscato on his lips.

    Quickly we contemplated the transgression. And just like old times, he had to leave.

    The door closed and I was awake and at home. Not far from disappointed, but far from that time.

    I don’t get out much.
    Most of my friends are male.
    Ever so often, good dreams avail.
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