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Wednesday, Apr 26, 2017 Last update: 03-03-17
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Intrigue 4-08
Opposite sex attraction.

“I knew I was going to meet you,” I said to this handsome, tall dark man, who immediately knew me for what I was. “The dangerous sort” was what I wanted, I had told a friend, whose gentleman friend I had at the time rejected. It definitely was magic at first sight. The language of love, lust, caution. I had put on my favorite skirt and sweater, anticipation for me was high that day. I was going to say “Yes” to everything.

He was standing across the room in the office of my wellness doctor, Hans Gruenn, disappointed that he could not receive a vitamin C shot for his cold. He had just come off a big case, “I win them all,” he offered. His success had been followed by a natural let- down, a sadder sick-like phase. “Does it always happen?” he wanted to know. “Yes,” I replied, describing my lonely after performance depressions, sitting on a stool all alone in the kitchen, eating left-overs to the vapid noise from a TV.

We offered a lot of information to each other. I liked everything he said, his manner, the way he revealed himself; his amazing memory for details. The Catholic boy had become a spiritually awakened man who grasped the higher, the broader concept of life while standing on his feet doing what he does best, defending I. P. cases, Intellectual Property. He had set precedents, written books, briefs, lectured. In the Refac case . . .

I looked him up on the internet. There were hundreds of sites on his accomplishments, a degree in electrical engineering, a BA graduate at Rutgers in New Jersey, 1978. That would make him 41—42 years old. We could be friends!

He was so stunning, easy to adore. He drove a black Porsche, what else? Girls love fast cars, it takes the breath away. He bragged, I notice the best men can’t help but brag, then they’ll pull themselves up short, fearing familial admonition. “Forget good manners . . . let your ego and all the rest rip. . . I can handle it, I love it, tell me more.” This idea was received well by him. Clever, intelligent men need to roar. I was his stadium of one, if not an hundred-fold approval for this male ego.

We went to John O’Groat’s for breakfast. I was walking on air, such is the consummate pleasure of being with a gorgeous man. Oh, pleasure indeed. I felt his arm, as an indurate resistance to my grasp, it left me giddy. “This is my new friend,” I said to Paul, the owner, and breezily took a seat.

There are always weaknesses and tragedies that bring people together, but for now the appreciation we all long to give and take is at it’s tumescent best. It’s the boost that life needs every now and then to stay the course, to our eventuality.

How had I known we would meet? Both of us being intuitive and in part psychic, the message came to me earlier that morning, standing in the bathroom in bra and panties, admiring my slim waist and round hips, briefly caught in the mirror. I’d noticed this before, but never did I acclaim out loud, “You are so beautiful!” This was different, I looked back again and remarked, “A man should be saying this to you, Julie.” It had been a long arduous winter.

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