Nanette 101

In a rueful/regretful mood I ponder what it is in my make-up that makes me avoid slightly eccentric women. Lynda in primary school with her pointed nose & almond eyes, but with s small mouth & scratchy voice I found off putting. She was enthralled by me & fell over herself to engage me in conversation or do things for me. Bugger! 
Another Pixie type whose name I cant quite remember that I met just as I was breaking up with someone else. Jumping into another sexual relationship was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to talk. I did while we walked two miles along the beach, in the dark. Andcthrn went to our respective homes. I drove her home to her grandmothers with whom she lived. She literally accosted me one night afterwards. I was happy drunk, she literally handcuffed me & dragged me to a squat & made me fuck her. I remember she was shaved. I tried hard but I just didn't get into it. 
Then Nanette, at uni, in first year psychology lectures. I was Social Work, she Visual Arts, wanting to develop ways to teach art as therapy. She had all us social science types up on a pedestal & never saw herself as my equal. Again, pixie featured. She showed me a small strainer she carried about to filter out bad words, bad people or something. I was married, unhappily as it goes. She was energetic, ethereal even, I was drawn but she knew better. There were probably drugs & casual boyfriends & crazy make believe discussions. Perhaps I was way too suburban, white bread? 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

a skin thing?

the american dilemma

mass political deception