Hawai'i

I placed some pictures from the Big Island of Hawai'i on MySpace today, and since then, I've gotten really homesick for my islands.

Mark Twain sailed to and toured Hawai'i from 1867-68, and the islands touched him in much the same way as I feel today. I tell friends that a virus enters your body when you arrive at any of the islands, causing you to constantly remember the beautiful scenery, the warmth of the sunshine, and the aroma of plumeria and wild orchids that greet you as soon as you step off the plane; I tell them there's no cure, and the only treatment is to return, time after time.

Getting back to Mark Twain- he made a speech at a dinner held in 1889, where he talked about the memories that possessed him. This is his memories:

"No alien land in all the worldhas any deep strong charmfor me but that one, no other land could so longingly and so beseechingly haunt me, sleeping and walking, through half a lifetime, as that one has done. Other things leave me, but it abides; other things change, but it remains the same. For me its balmy airs are always blowing, its summer seas flashing in the sun; the pulsing of its surfbeat is in my ear, I can see its garlanded crags, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms drowsing by the shore, its remote summits floating like islands above the cloud wrack; I can feel the spirit of its woodland solitudes, I can hear the splash of its brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breath of flowers that perished twenty years ago."

Well said, Mr. Clemens.

Terri Cherry

Everyone has a person in their life who made a huge impact; a truly unforgettable person who, even in distant memory, can bring back a flood of feelings, either good, bad, but most often a combination of both.

Terri Cherry (she was Terri Jones when I was involved with her) is that person for me. Many years ago, we dated for five years, and were engaged for quite a bit of that period. She was breathtaking to me: strawberry blond hair, the fairest complexion I still have ever seen, light blue eyes that danced and sparkled even when she woke up in the morning, perfectly symmetrical breasts that, though large, never sagged, and shapely legs. She had a laugh that could make my heart stop with love, and her voice was, well sweet- not comic book falsetto, or Lauren Bacall throaty- just sweet.

We were a pair, like Beauty and the Beast (no, I was the beast!). We had fun regardless of what we did. We were so sexually compatible; we had a hard time keeping our hands to ourselves, and when we made love (frequently), it was with a passion and intensity that I've only read about in "racy" magazines; we were never satisfied with "quickies"- we had "longies" where we'd spend hours in bed, having one orgasm after another, until we were both so tired that we could barely stand. We actually broke the bed once (yeah, seriously!) when our activity got a little too vigorous, causing the headboard and foot board to pull away from the bed frame. Down we went to the floor, but we didn't notice until we were finished. God, I loved her. I loved every fiber of her being. I wanted to live the rest of my life with her...

Not all memories of Terri are pleasant. It was my first experience with total deception and dishonesty to the point it became soul murder.During the last year, I noticed things weren't quite right with her. It began at a restaurant when I noticed she didn't have her engagement ring on; when I asked her why she wasn't wearing the ring, she said that she had lost it. "Lost it?", I asked, "How do you lose an engagement ring?". She told me that she'd been out with her friends, and had put it in her jeans pocket for "safekeeping". When she returned home, the ring wasn't there. I could halfway believe that, but she would not have brought it up if I hadn't asked, and told me like the loss of the ring, which cost $1,000, wasn't a big deal. Afterwards, she began to frequently call me to break dates we had, saying she was going out with "friends". I wasn't suspicious because, naively, I believed her- Terri would never be dishonest or cheat.

The end came on Valentine's Day, when she broke a date we had to spend the holiday with each other, and she didn't go where she said she was going to be. I couldn't take the pain anymore, so I point-blank asked her if she was having an affair. She lied to me at first (it turned out that she lied very, very well), but then told me that she had been using me for years, didn't want to see me anymore, and that she had been sleeping with other guys.

I was totally destroyed. I couldn't eat or sleep. My trust had been raped, and my heart had been ripped out of my chest and maliciously stomped flat on the floor. It still hurts, even after these many years. It's frustrating to me, though, that part of me still loves her and would take her back, all past deeds forgiven, while the other parts of me still has much bitterness.

The last I heard about her was that she had gotten married, had had a child, and was living a idyllic in Smyrna, Tennessee. Once again, I have two conflicting emotions- I'm happy that she has evidently found what she wanted, but I feel so sorry for her husband. Little does he know he's living with a praying mantis.

In Praise of Mature Women

I love mature women. They are by far sexier and more desirable than those of younger women. Sure, young, nubile females can be attractive, but their bodies don’t excite me like that of more mature women. I think stretch marks from pregnancy are sexy; the women with striae on their abdomen and breasts have no reason to be embarrassed. I see them as signs of fertility, of someone who is a loving, caring person who chose motherhood, and of someone who sacrificed vanity to bring their baby into the world.

I prefer the body shapes of women with maturity. I am not a fan of young women who have a body of a concentration camp survivor, all angles and bones, whose breasts protrude from their bodies like weapons or look like they’ve been added on as an afterthought. I find the rounded, more gently curved figure of a mature woman much sexier. They are infinitely softer, warmer, and much better to cuddle and hold. A mature woman’s breasts fascinate me; they are orbs, not projections, are much fuller, but it’s their softness that makes me incredibly excited. Sex with a younger woman can be hazardous; repeatedly slamming into a pelvis bone without padding can be downright painful, regardless of the amount of passion.

A mature woman seems to know that "I love you" is much more than a phrase. They know what love means, and know the responsibility that comes by using those words. Some, but not all, mature women appreciate love and won’t take it for granted. Mature women seem to recognize that real love isn’t transitory and governed by estrogen and testosterone, and tend to be much, much more unconditional when they do love. Sex with a mature woman is a banquet of tastes, sensations, and shared emotion, not rushed but savored; sex with the less mature is often no better than grabbing a hamburger at a fast-food restaurant- consumed rapidly, usually not satisfying, and prone to cause heartburn (heartache) at the end.

Mature women talk of more things than themselves. They are less preoccupied with trends, new fashion, and superficiality. The mature woman can see gestures of friendship as simply that, and not be so vain as to preclude them as attempts at seduction. They seem to be able to innately see into the character of the people around them, and are infinitely more honest about how they feel, both about the people that are around them and the world around them. They don’t fear honesty- it is a trait they expect and welcome.

Maybe now my reader can see why, if given the choice between a twentyish temptress and a more mature woman, I’d choose a mature lover every time. I thank God for them!