fromthemouthofmoi

MY INTRODUCTION TO YOU Disclaimer: This blog entry is for consenting adults and is not meant for anyone who is in crisis mode, unwanted pregnancy, rape, suspecting an STD or domestic abuse. I am not qualified to deal with that in a written blog. For those who have stumbled across this blog and need urgent help, go to your nearest doctor or hospital. Even if your doctor is not fully comfortable talking about certain subjects he or she should be professional enough to direct you to the right professional. You also have the right, normally, to ask for a service provider with a gender you feel more comfortable speaking with. Go now! I promise it will be better than going it alone. This blog entry is aimed at heterosexual sex. I do not feel qualified to talk about sex between those with other sexual orientations though the premise of this entry is applicable to everyone. I write now from a place where men love and respect women; and where women listen to men offering their full re...

My next blog entry is explicit. If you are not interested in sex, vaginas, or pictures of naked bodies you should not read it or read it with a blindfold handy. I'm just warning you. It is written in the style in which I counseled clients in sex education. The blog entry is titled: These Misunderstandings Between Us. If you are sure you want to read it but wish to censor it in some way I am sure you can find an app on the internet that will plaster black blotches over things you find objectionable.  Sticky Notes on your monitor work well too.

I was wee when The Hudson still froze. We, my siblings and I, were bundled brown skin trudging across to The Bronx. Here, in Inwood, my family is not noticed; we are just a few amongst many. Anyone attempting difference is quickly reminded of the commonality of poverty; odds are we are wearing a neighbour's hand-me-downs. I've known Anne forever; I have no sense that there might have been a time when we have not been confidantes.  Green Gables was a dilapidated run down farm house in the middle of the woods when I was wee. Freda and I held hands and fancied ourselves kindred spirits as we traipsed through those woods wondering aloud if indeed we were walking the same steps as Anne and Diana once had. Freda made me kindred when she saw that I too had curly hair; she became kindred when I learned that she was a she in the midst of all boys; a configuration of family not unlike my own. Forty years later we still hold hands when we meet at airports or during a stroll ...