I want you
        in the flesh
        in the flesh

     What he got back from her, with surprising alacrity, alarmed him:

Walked around all afternoon wanting to kiss you. Have you read the British psychoanalyst Adam Phillips book ON KISSING, TICKLING AND BEING BORED? He sez kissing sooooo nice because (69 aside, not face-to-face) it's the only sexual act you can't do on yourself. Maybe so. I bring the back of my own hand to my mouth, pretending, but doesn't do trick. So how old are your kids? Have you seen "The Magic School Bus"? I see my tongue riding into your mouth like that bus . . . I am tunneling into you, you into me/God it is EMBARRASSING how focused i am on PENETRATION

as if penetration will make me penetrating
          (is this too LITERARY?           sorry
                    oops time for meeting
                              XXOO           K.

     "Literary" was not the problem. He had dated his share of English majors and could cope with the stray allusion, even lob one back. What disturbed him was the recognition that like most women she was going to want to talk about sex, whereas for him, the ideal act was essentially wordless. You should not need to ask was it good for you. If you were contrite, you should not need to say it with flowers. Men did not feel less than women, but they bought less stock in the expression of feeling; the axiom that "letting it out" "made you feel better" was the equivalent, for his money, of kissing a kid's boo-boo. Mere voodoo. Certain things felt bad because they should feel bad � failure, grief � and other things, like sex, should feel good. What was to discuss?
     Already he suspected her suspicion: He had put out for bid an "imaginary woman" with specs to which she had precipitously failed to conform, by being a "real person." They hadn't met! What could be less "real" than that! This was all wheel-spinning. He wrote back:

(H)E-said, (sh)e-said:
Let us not too prematurely shoot our cyberwad
(return to Plan A?)

SEE YOU ON TUES stop CANT WAIT stop, he added, then returned his brain to work, hoping that the play on telegram format would seem an acceptable rejoinder to her fancier formulations.
     But it didn't.


One reason to marry: so you don't have to date, waiting to see when men would deign to call, or come. All through the animal kingdom, males worshipped at the throne of Estrus. But humankind? Let a woman bat a lash and the man ran. She tried to keep herself from twirling, like her son's spin-top ballpoint pen, in widening gyres over these doubts. In

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