Where else would i put these thoughts?

- Oh pretty girl on the platform. I stand near you, and not so abstractly or subtly gander over at you. It can't be helped, you see, because your ribbony head of curls caught my eye as soon as i went through the turnstile. And well, i could dip into my satchel and pull out the trade papers i should probably be studying, but then there you are. Pretty. Curly. You haven't yet shown me your eyes - oh my...you are pretty. Incredibly. Surely, you see me. I'm no more than just a few feet from those two big blue beee-yoots. This isn't a game. I'm merely interested in looking at your visage, the same as if i were to stare so intently at a Van Gogh landscape hanging in the Metropolitan. I want to be near that beauty. I want to just stare and admire. I want to be inspired. To be filled with the joy such beauty imbibes you with, to then turn around, and hold the door for that elderly lady, to offer a pleasant smile to that stranger waiting for the bus near my apartment. I want to be charmed, and hopeful in turn, be charming.

- I do so much walking in this city. There can only be so much entertainment one pursues in the headphones plugged into their ears. I offer to those of you who read these words the opportunity to chime in on whether the next behaviors i describe are creepy or endearing: I'm rushing, late (by my terms, which really means i'm right on time) for an appointment. I weave in and out of the stragglers on the sidewalk. I don't shove anyone. It's all on me. I duck, bend, shift, scoot and bow - all to make my way through a congested alleyway. I look at my watch every few steps. How can it still only be that time? Seriously? Boy, when did minutes go so fast? And then, suddenly, without any hesitation, i stop in my tracks. Ahead, there is a beautiful woman who has stopped to study the tantalizing window display at a dress shop. My steps are methodically slower, angling my approach so that i walk behind her by just a few inches. Right as i'm upon her, i close my eyes, suck in the air around her through my nostrils just so i can sense her perfume. My forward progress carries me a few feet past her, as the remnants of her bouquet pay their last respects upon my nostrils. And then, without hesitation, i resume my hurried march to my appointment, with 100% certainty she has no idea what her lovely perfume has done to lift my day.

Sly old fox

She couldn't have been more than 20 years old, and even then, it was obvious her manner of dress was chosen to add maturity to her age. I saw that she was lost in her magazine, and didn't catch me stepping up to her register. I relished moments like this - this game.

In my head, i contemplate every move and gesture i need to make in order to fluster and catch a girl off guard. I will first surprise her with a firm, low-register greeting. Immediately following that, i will find her eyes, and stare right into them. Once i know she has realized we've locked eyes, a smile will break out the side of my mouth baiting her, as i wait for her to act upon my transaction.

This one seemed perfectly ripe and a virtual lock as a target.

"Hi, there."

She saw me smiling at her, quickly putting her magazine on the counter behind her.

"Uh...hi." She smiled back at me. "Hiya..."

She looked down at the items i'd placed on the conveyor belt, and began to scan each one. Following the beeping response of the scanner, she gazed up at me, right into my stare that hadn't moved from her. And each time she looked, her eyes bubbled and she smiled.

"You have to guess what i'm making for dinner."

She chuckled while arching her eyebrows. She gandered at me while biting her bottom lip, to gauge my seriousness.

"I'm serious...i'll give you three guesses."

She scanned the items, assembling them in a list in her head. She squinted at me contemplatively from the side of her head, trying to figure out what my appetites might be, what lay in my background and my biography. The only thing she had to go off was what stood before her.

"Do you give up?"

"Nooooo! Give me a - "

She stopped mid-sentence, and a disembodied thought that had been boiling in her mind finally formed together.

"You have really beautiful eyes."

Caught off guard a little by the change in subject, i didn't know exactly how to react, so i just offered a simple thanks.

"They are like looking into a bright Summer sky. I could stare at them all day."

I swallowed any words that were on deck in my mouth. She completely turned things around with this comment, taking the advantage in the conversation. I smiled, a little embarrassed by the fluidity of her compliment. As she finished scanning the rest of my groceries, i didn't say much. I didn't have much to say. I continued to hold the corners of my mouth upwards as i paid my bill, and gathered my bags.

As i walked away, i thought about how one should not overestimate the prowess of one even as young as that. Just as i reached the exit door, i heard her cheery voice call after me.

"Tacos! You're making tacos."

I smiled as the sun of the beautiful Summer day hit my face. She was right.

Two faced

One afternoon, my secretary alerted me to the fact that i was to expect two visitors. She did not go into detail who these visitors were or what business they brought to discuss, nor did i inquire due to my frenzied activity upto that point. Shortly after, my phone rang, and going against custom, i answered. It was my boss.

"Have they come by yet?"

"Has who come by?"

"Well, i told them to come down and immediately interrupt what it was you were doing."

"Who?!"

"My daughters, for chrissakes!"

I sunk in my chair. I hadn't met them before, but i knew even then that i didn't want to entertain his daughters. I hung up the phone with him and immediately dialed my secretary, intent on instructing her to stall all attempts at piercing my quiet, inner chambers.

"Too late, Mr. D. They're here, right now."

"...send them in...i guess."

My door burst open, and in exploded the pair, like a ball of energy at full momentum in a long downhill descent. It wasn't until they looked me in the eyes did these two young girls stop in their tracks. They were six and eight respectively, and even in their nascent stage, i still could see the heartbreaking campaigns they would be destined to oversee. I'd heard all about these girls from my boss - he couldn't stop boasting about them, and rightly so. I did not look forward to their inevitable appearance because i knew, once they arrived, parading their magnificent "girlness", i would be prisoner to every demand they made. As was the case with them standing in my office, however, i offered them something that perhaps their own father hadn't prepared them for.

I've written before about the transfixing quality my eyes seem to have over the opposite gender. Without fail, i know that these overly fair, gold-speckled, blue eyes of mine will grab the unsuspecting female, and place her at a considerable disadvantage. Gradually, i've come to learn that it isn't just my baby blues that arrests these lasses in their forward progress, but in fact, it is the entirety of my face that seems to broadcast a signal that i'm to be trusted by every morsel of their being. The latest, and most profound example of this happened four months ago.

I live in city that attracts the trafficking of all kinds of materials, contraband and illegal in every respect. The most tragic and hardest to stomach of those items shuffled through this underworld processing plant is that of the human kind. I've seen entire rooms filled with row after row of indentured people, given the task of some quota to meet, only for that quota to help pay off the debt each individual and their attached family owed for their illegal transport to the "Land of the Free". However, i'd never had a firsthand experience with this seedy underbelly that slithers constantly under this metropolis that i love.

I was taking the East-side trains uptown, heading to a rather important meeting. The doors to the subway opened at 14th Street, inviting more passengers into our already crowded car. She stepped in, scanned the dozens of faces that occupied the subway, and of all of them, decided i was the one who would help her. She sat down next to me - forced her way, wedged her way into a seat next to me that didn't exist - and the first thing i remember thinking was how tiny she was. Everything about her was tiny: her head covered with long silver hair; her eyelids tight, thin, held together; her hands, which after a moment or two i noticed the piece of tattered cloth they held. She shoved the patch of fabric in my face, as if it was the most natural gesture in this dialogue between two people who didn't speak the same language. I looked at the piece of fabric, and saw that someone had written an address on it in permanent marker. They had written this address on rag, given it to this woman who clearly had just been cargo within the past 48 hours from all points East, and told her to make her own way to this place.

It took very little for her to hand over this textile message to me, with the hopes i'd be able to get her to the destination scribbled on it. I didn't recognize the address, nor did i believe the train she was on would get her to where she needed to get. I turned to other passengers, asked them, showed them the fragment, looking for any advice as to how i could direct her to the right place. No one had any idea, or if they did, they refused to get involved.

I handed her back her tattered treasure map, and gestured to other people on the train that she should reach out to. She outright refused. She'd determined that of everyone on that subway car, i was the one who was going to get her to where she needed to go. Now, mind you, because i understood how she got into this country, this city (illegally), i wasn't necessarily motivated to see her deposited at this random address waving in my hand. Who knows what tortures or pressure lay before her. But, what's worse, i thought, than an old woman who's only words came from the Mandarin language to be floating around this big, bad city?

I eventually convinced her to follow me off the train, up some stairs and made her wait as i took her address scribbled across this torn cloth to a station agent who helped me figure out which train and train stop this little Chinese grandma needed. I didn't speak a single word of her tongue, nor did she speak mine. The only reason, i've concluded, that she attached herself to me was due to the calming, arresting qualities of my face.

I've reflected on this matter numerous times since it happened. Did i do the right thing? Should i have invested more energy and resources to make sure this woman made it okay? Why, why of all the people on that very crowded train did she make a bee-line to me? It leads to me to question some of my own interactions with the submissive females that have passed through my life. I understand that on the surface i appear like a very trustworthy, if not downright innocent, individual. No one would pin on me the dastardly acts i commit upon the feminine campus, and i wonder if this has been the same mind frame that operates in those young ladies who entrusted me to treat them with kindness and respect, based solely on the kind qualities of my visage. I wonder if this serves as a comfort and a sedative as they gradually allow the entrance of my other face - to allow it to come into clear, and unequivocally vivid focus.

Find the clouds

I breathe.

In great glorious lungfuls, i drink in the air as if it were water, and i had a thirst deep in my chest.

Each breath draws from me a peaceful sigh, a connection to the portion of my mind too often misplaced throughout the regular activity of a day. One breath brings me back there. Another one, and i am centered. Once i am calm, it seems i cannot inhale enough, i am feeding oxygen to muscles and cells that are neglected by my regimental respiration. These parts of me come alive, they ask for more, they make the colors around me stand out, more brilliant. They imbibe the sounds that circle me with a three-part harmony. They lift the corners of my mouth ever so slightly into a smile. They make the blue in my eyes sparkle.

Just by breathing. This air i engulf helps me find my oneness with everything around me. It removes any notion of individuality that i may have allowed myself to falsely accept. It reminds me that i am not just breathing air. I am also breathing the sunshine that creates differing pressures that move the air. I am breathing the clouds that float on the air, and carry moisture from one land to the next.

When i breathe, i remind myself i must find the clouds. When i do, i feel calmness.

Every time she is bent over, naked, grasping the edge of the bed as told, i must remind her to breathe. I am breathing for her. I am breathing with her.

It's in his eyes

At first, it's just a glance. Something my senses are quite attuned to, but still, since it has only met my eyes once, i don't take notice. Then, she'll begin to stare. Smile nervously. And then her stare will turn hungry. She'll want me to stare back. I'll cross the flight path of her gaze with my own eyes, and i'll know instantly that i've caught her. I haven't captured her in a momentary transaction. I mean, i've caught her, trapped her, she's mine.

This visual tractor beam is in fact so common i've come to refer to it in my head as an echo. I stand on the edge of the massive canyon, only to call out my voice in hopes of hearing the familiar return to my ears. It might come across as slightly shocking that i would place on these pages dictation that states how time after time i've entered into a deep connection with multiple females. But, what i believe to be more shocking is that it has happened with females of all ages. Be they 25 years my junior or senior. This is what makes this subject so difficult to write about on this site. I'm not talking about this capture in an explicitly sexual manner, but something similar to catching a beautiful monarch butterfly. I retrieve the creature from my net, pull it gently out and hold it on my fingers, lightly caressing its gossamer elegance, letting it flutter a 4-line poem with its fragile wings.

Perhaps this is why i've always had more female companions in my life. Perhaps this explains why even today my profession, my daily vocation and even my volunteer work finds me in situations where my gender is the minority. And perhaps, herein lies the veracity for the overwhelming number of comments to my words here coming from the fairer sex.

Most frequently, this connection would happen in social situations, usually at a party or gathering. Now, if she was younger than me, she was usually the younger sister of a friend, or the daughter of the host. Her attachment would be made instantaneously. She would not say much to me, keeping herself just off of my periphery where (she most likely didn't know i knew) she would be able to stare at me rather uninterruptedly. Then, she would grow bold, show me, with great pride, a toy of hers - a favorite doll, perhaps - to see if i would be able to speak on her level. I would normally wink at her, raise my eyebrows, make a silly little face. My young friend sometimes pretends to be demure to my sudden return volley of attention, pin her chin to her shoulder, smear her hands over her face, only to offer me her eyes to signify her amusement.

What strikes me most times when i am in this situation, other than the pure innocent joy of this exchange, is what is staring from behind those eyes of hers. I feel like i know them. Like sixty years earlier, they belonged to someone in my past life who meant something very dear to me, and for a moment, i'm enjoying the opportunity of their brief visit.

The strongest episode of this kind happened when i was just graduating from college. My hometown friend had invited me to come down and watch his younger brother play baseball for his highschool team. This junior second baseman had a female friend named Cindy who was to accompany us. When my friend told me of this, before i even met her i felt a strange connection, despite the fact that she was only 15 and i was 23. I rode down with my friend in his car, jumping in the back seat so when we got his brother, they could share the front together. However, being a gentleman, upon arrival, lil bro let Cindy sit in the front.

I'm really not able to explain why it felt like it did when she entered the car, but upon her recline, an incredible peace overwhelmed me. My friend introduced me to her, and the entire time, she didn't look back at me. For twenty minutes, we engaged in conversation amongst the four of us, and not once did she turn back to deliver her words directly. Then, abruptly, she spun around and looked right into my eyes. I still remember this moment: her deep, shiny brown morsels surrounded by the whites of her optics; her graduating cascade of arched eyelashes; the brightness of the entire area between her temples. Suddenly, decades of a life i couldn't recall came to me, in a different locale, region and time period. She'd brought these memories back to me. I could tell she was equally stunned. We interrupted the flow of conversation and spoke the only words that made sense:

"Hi," she said. She'd pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, nibbling on it.

"Hi there," i responded. We were reacquainting ourselves with eachother. She was looking in my eyes (and couldn't stop) as if it had been too long since she last saw them.

A year would pass, and she and i would no longer be able to hold back, engaging in a passionate romance that due to our age gap would never get the proper oxygen it needed to adequately fuel the flame. But it was enough to really witness the memories and experiences you can share with someone not from this current lifetime.

With regards to females older than me, this phenomenon takes on a rather similar shine - a connection realized from some shared past. Due to our stages in life, the situation tends to allow more flirtation. The most recent episode of this happened over the weekend. I was at my friend's engagement party, whose mom i'd met several times. We shared this connection i mention above, however it took a very subtle and dignified tone.

I was sitting at a table by myself on the outside patio, taking in the beauty of the nighttime air and symphony of nature's song. I heard the sounds of heels come click along the stone of the patio behind me, and then the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

I could tell it was her by her voice, but also by her leathery perfume. I smiled, indicating i was doing wonderful.

She walked around the table and stood in front of me with a smile that always calms and excites me. She looked at me for the first time in the evening, and cocked her head slightly to the side.

"Your eyes are so bright. Did you lighten your eyes?"

I smiled again, big, showing all of my teeth. I let her walk away to attend to other guests, waiting until she was just on the verge of being out of earshot, and then i spoke:

"Yes. But, just so i could seduce you."