Before last night, I had an awareness, of course, of Sweet’s feminine persona. I knew the other half existed. I’d heard the voice. I’d seen the pictures. We’d spoken on the subject. A lot.
But the experience was still missing. I’d never met the girl face-to-face.
Earlier this week, Sweet mentioned being torn: he wanted to share “her” with me, share her directly. “But why?” he went on to ask. “What’s the point?”
Sweet’s always known how receptive I am to meeting the girl in him. I’ve been very clear on that point. I’m all-embracing.
Yesterday I was out having dinner with a friend. When I got home, there were about 300 messages on my answering machine. “Just calling to say hi…” “just wanted to see if you had plans…” “Just seeing if you’re home yet…” The phone rang even before I was finished listening to them. It was Sweet. But not just everyday Sweet. It was the girl.
“I was out having dinner with Mara,” I told her.
“Oh, that’s great. That’s good…” she began, hesitating. “I just thought maybe we could go to the movies. It’s too late now, but…”
My heart sank. I can see stupid Mara anytime, and here I spent the evening with her instead of with her. Sweet. Her. I didn’t even know her name.
“Hey, who the hell are you, Lady? Here some random woman calls me up, doesn’t even introduce herself, and wants to take me out? Talk about presumptuous!”
“What’s your name?” I probed.
“I can tell you that when I see you.”
I’ve always been a fan of immediate gratification and, having missed that evening’s opportunity to see my Sweet in this new-to-me form, I was dreadfully concerned this might be a one-time-only opportunity. He’d expressed his trepidations before. How could I be sure he’d want to unveil his feminine aspect for me again?
I wouldn’t normally make demands on the time of someone who lives so far away from me but this was a special occasion. “Come over, Sweet. Come now.”
At 1:15 in the morning, a beautiful woman appeared on my doorstep. I already knew the person, but the girl was new. We had a cup of tea and chatted. She told me her name, at long last. She was…oh, I’m fluttery-hearted just thinking about her… You know what I was most taken by? Those same old sparkling eyes, of course. Like I wasn’t having enough problems suppressing that question of love…
“I’m feeling self-conscious,” I told her.
“Because you’re so much prettier than me.”