============================================================== To reach ALL SJD members, please send to sjd@satjadham.net ... Do NOT include any other addresses when sending to the list... Include as LITTLE of the original messages as possible........ Message sent by: Amphephone Phettaphong *** Announcement: *** Please send your member fee to Victor if you haven't done so. ============================================================== Hello soudary and all, I thought, I did posted "Creative" Part II yesterday. Anyway, in case some of you miss it. I will resubmit it again. Creative Part II It was a night of confusion, he didn't sleep,not much. His mind whirled. He thought it through, from every angle, but could only come back to the same conclusion, she had tried to signal something!!! For him that conclusion led to another, that she was reluctant to part from him. And that, surely, meant that she wanted to know him. But she was so lovely, and he had started to feel so much affection for her, that the thought seemed hardly feasible. It was surely a dream come true, and, that, never happened to him. At least it never had. But, maybe, this was different. Maybe, this, was his little piece of heaven. He let it rest, for a few days, trying to rationalize away his perceptions. But he couldn't, and the thought of her, and her beauty, and the need to know her, were too much for him to dismiss from his mind. Finally, he called the Bride/Groom, and in passing asked for her address and phone number -- "I said I would send her something, but she didn't leave her phone number or address". The prospect of calling her held no fears for him, not then, and that struck him as strange. He should be feeling fear, he always did. And what he was about to do, was so unlike him. He lived his life, and did his job, and on occasion would think about her. And when he did, then, there was always that intrigue, not knowing where she came from, nor what she had intended. The Bride/Groom called a few days later, at work, and gave him her address and phone number. He played down the need for the information, concentrating upon other things, and the post-wedding events in the other's life. They parted in high spirits, and with an unspoken need for confidence. There had been no talk of her, apart from her name, address and telephone number. He wouldn't have permitted anything further, beyond that. Between times he'd written something for her. It was a strange piece, which had risen from his love of writing, and the need to give her something. He'd been touched by her tears, and the piece was an odd reflection upon that sweet incident. He posted it to her, and unknown to him, he got the zip code wrong. When he came to call her, a few days later, she hadn't received it. He felt fear now, as he dialed her number, a fear of rejection. But she seemed happy to talk, and slowly, he relaxed. He told her how she had effected him, and how he wanted her in his life. He told her how beautiful she was, and the way he had felt after she left the wedding reception. And, particularly, the squeezing of his hand. But there was no talk of love. She said that she was intrigued, but couldn't remember squeezing his hand. "I was very drunk", she said. He hadn't noticed that, but let it pass. He never was convinced that he ever heard the truth about, that, incident. She spoke about her business, and how much of her time it consumed. He steeled himself, and finally, asked her if she would see him. She had no hesitation, "All right", she said. He felt joy. Unexpected joy. This was unprecedented in his life. A beautiful woman saying "yes", when he asked her out. Mind you, he'd never asked one before. Not a beautiful one. But, now, came the difficult part. You see, he already has a girlfriend. Not a good a very good one, but not a dreadful, grinding, relationship either. It was about to end. And both he, and his girlfriend, knew it. She knew his girlfriend, had met her, both times, at the wedding. The Bride and his girlfriend were lifelong friends. And, that, was why he had wanted the Bride/Groom to keep the confidence. "That's great", he said, and, after a moment, he added, "You know that I already have a girlfriend?" "Yes", she said, lightly, "I know, I remember her from the wedding". "So, when can I take you out", he asked, prepared to drop the subject of have a girlfriend. He felt no guilt, she was precious to him, and the thought of not seeking to keep her in his life, somewhere, was painful to him. She must have thought a little more, about him having a girlfriend, because she asked how he had got her number. He told her, but she seemed concerned, just a little. He reassured her, and added that he had not compromised her in any way. He sent her another copy of the piece that he'd written for her, and rang her again, the following day. He'd wondered whether it would distress her, but it didn't. She found it strange, and he never knew whether she really understood where he was coming from. His philosophy was a little unconventional, it was in his nature to be open and up-front with his feelings. But his love-hate relationship with his current girlfriend had damaged that, and upon discovering that he could write, the flood gates had burst. Writing was a means of releasing his emotion. Beyond that, loving, and caring, had become a way of writing. And that had become a way of thinking. Slowly it became a philosophy in the making. It was a constant source of angst, when his girlfriend could not understand. But She did, or so it seemed. "I'd like to take you out on a date", he said, hoping she would say another "yes". She did!. And that was another leaping of the heart. He couldn't believe the change in his fortune, and everything that she said seemed to indicate that she wanted to know him, in the way that he needed to know her. At this time it wasn't a question of loving, more a question of deep seated need, to know the inner being of the wonder on the other end of the phone. "Thank you", he said, "Do you have any preference, a favorite restaurant, or eating place?" She said she hadn't, and, in fact, had already told him that she didn't eat much. That was borne out by her figure. She was slim, very slim, and that was part of her delicacy, part of that aura. Some would say that she was underweight, but he couldn't see it. For him, she had molded herself into what she was, and that was a miracle. There was a respect, in his heart, for her, that transcended everything. She seemed in need of something, maybe an arm to lean on. But he knew, that, wasn't true, she'd known many men, and had told him so on the night of the wedding party. And if she'd known them, then, if she had been in need of an arm, then one would have been around now. He said that he would book something, and, before he hung up, he said, "I don't want this to be grubby, or sleazy, I'm determined about that. I need to know you, I want to be in your life, and I want you in mine. And I don't feel any guilt about that". She said nothing, indeed, she was always reticent, on the phone, but, occasionally, he made her laugh. Truth was, he always felt nervous before calling her, but the sound of her voice, coupled with the memory of her openness, eventually set him at ease. Beside, nothing she had said, or done, had given him the slightest doubt that she was happy with the arrangement. Once he had coaxed her, when she had hesitated, "Am I not your type?" Her reply had been quick, and, sharp, "I don't have a type", she said. That warmed him, but it puzzled him too! He'd always been critical of himself, and he'd also said, "You might find me boring". And again, the quick response, "Or otherwise", she said. There was no doubting her strength, her integrity, and intelligence, and he knew that she was probably way out of his league, but he was determined to try and keep her in his life. The following days were dream like. He hid behind his walls, and kept the world at bay, inside, feeling an expectation of discovery. He had no expectation beyond that. He came looking for friendship, and understanding. His perception was that she could be that way. It wasn't sexual, never was. That wasn't something that he saw as important. Somehow, she was too precious to him for thoughts of sex, to come into his mind. It wasn't what his affection was about. For him, it was important that she should know that. Later, she was to say, "If you can say it, then you must be thinking it". But, that, for him, was a nonsense, a rationalization that didn't work, when subjected to the test of plain logic. What he had been thinking, was the opposite. And her words were a complete reversal of the fact. The important thing was that he didn't expect sex with her, and at the time it hadn't entered his head. But it was important, to him, that she should know that. He didn't know why. But it seemed a basis for building a relationship. A way of telling her where he came from. And he would await the time to tell her. For him, the company of a beautiful woman, someone to talk to, the possibility of affection and understanding, far outweighed all else. And he craved, that, more than anything else. Fate seemed to have noticed him, and blessed him, with a smile. He rang her doorbell with a hesitant finger, and, soon, she appeared. He was late, and she may have been a little tetchy. She was beautiful, as beautiful as her memory. And he was feeling, kind of, swamped. It wasn't a conscious thing, but, somewhere, there was an unrealness. He hadn't done this in, nearly 5 years. There had been opportunities, and he'd spent time with other women, of course he had. But this had an illicit feel to it, not that he would ever feel guilty, she was too precious to him, for that. As they sat, across the table from each other, he had a feeling of coming home. That she was the person that he'd longed for. And inside him he had love. It wasn't passion, though it was emotion. Emotion on a deep level. Emotion for the way that she was, and the fact that she seemed to care. Those soft rounds, of her shoulders, were exposed, again, and her slender arms seemed made from the finest angel wings. Her fingers were long, and equally, slender. On her thumb she wore a man's gold ring. Her black hair, and brown eyes, were a perfect match for her dress, and around her neck she wore a gold and Buddha pendant. The candles flickered, and brought out the rainbows, in those lovely eyes. He smiled at her. "You're very beautiful", he said. She smiled back, and sipped her tea. She replaced the glass, and flashed him a look. He didn't know what the look said, but he knew that it warmed him. He wanted more of those looks, they were brightening things, that he hadn't seen for so long. And there were many. They took time, before ordering, preferring to talk. And the talk was easy, though simple stuff. It was as though they needed the time to get a feel for the other's psyche. Later on they drank wine, and slowly, he relaxed. Her hair tumbled down around her neck, and she had a way of holding her head, that made the most of the way that it framed her face. And, oh, those eyes. There she was, sparkling, and alive, inside. The windows of her soul. They made him feel emotional. He told her a little of his life. She, in turn, told him about herself, and where she was born. She mentioned her sister, and how she had called her a 'heart breaker', when she had told her about him. He became serious, "You certainly aren't that", he said, "My relationship with my girlfriend is already broken". She looked at him, but made no comment. He didn't know whether she believed him, and he didn't know how he could achieve that. But he rarely lied. He couldn't do it convincingly. "I'll go out with you", she said, "as long as there's no involvement". "I can live with that", came his reply. And the very fact of her accepting him, on that level, was a wondrous thing to have in his life. He sighed, and felt so happy. They finished eating. She looked at him in a becoming way, lowering her face, and dazzling him from beneath those lovely lashes. The rainbows were there, and so was she. Now, he felt confusion, she seemed to be enticing him, and that was odd, after what she had just said. But, maybe, that was how she was, and those looks were so pleasurable. He smiled at her, and tried to look away. But his eyes always came back to her's. She was so beautiful. And, that, memory would stay for a long time. She talked of very intimate things, things he hadn't expected to hear from her. Of things in her past. Things that seemed, just a little, ruthless. But they were part of her, things that had molded her, and made her into what she was. He had no issue with them, in fact he was warmed that she should feel comfortable enough, to tell him. "Has that changed your opinion of me?", she asked. He smiled. "No it hasn't", he said, "We all have a past". And, meantime, a poem was forming in his head, about her virtues, and the way that he found her. Later, he was to wonder whether he had just sat some kind of test. He never knew whether he passed. But he doubted it. The lights went up, in the restaurant, and the waiter snuffed out the candles. They were reluctant to move, and sat a little longer. Eventually, they paid the bill, and headed for the door. If only he had known what was to come, then, he would have taken time to become more controlled. But he was relaxed, happy, even, and the wine had done it's work. And, I suppose, he became over-confident. In the car she seemed small, kind of huddled. He wondered if she was feeling vulnerable, and if so, why. He had nothing but warm, human, feeling inside himself. But there were those walls, and he had his usual problem allowing someone through. He looked, again, at her, and she sparkled, and he felt wonder. He also felt determination to push over his walls, and to welcome her inside, with open arms. But it wasn't to be. He became clumsy, and awkward. And, somehow, found himself saying totally the wrong thing. He wanted to say how beautiful she was, how he wanted her in his life, and how was coming to love he. But he looked at her, such a precious thing, she was his dream, and that inhibited him. "What is it?", she said, coaxing him. He shook his head and turned away, knowing that he was throwing away another opportunity. His determination returned, just briefly, and he tried to speak. But, "I love you", are such mighty words, when you've known someone for such a short time. And from him it would have seemed gauche, or so he thought. It's not the thing to do, whilst driving a lady home from a first date. But it didn't seem like a first date, not entirely, he'd been with her , now, for a total of some five odd hours, and there was a familiarity forming between them. At the last minute he changed it, and decided to tell her the other thought that had been on his mind. And it wasn't the time to say that, either. Somehow, he found the words, "You know, for what it's worth, I didn't take you out tonight expecting to jump into bed with you", falling from his lips. Having said it, he could have died. She seemed to crumple, her head in her hands. "I've just spent the last few hours telling you that I didn't want any involvement, and now this". "I know that", he said, feeling confused. He couldn't understand the problem, he was agreeing with her, but she seemed to see his words from a viewpoint that he, simply, couldn't comprehend. The change, in her, was total. It was as though she, suddenly, saw him through different eyes. And those eyes only seemed to see the things that she had experienced over those years, and none of them were how he saw himself. She became angry, and tried to belittle him. He could only think of the bright things that had gone before, and feel confusion. The road ahead was closed, a diversion, and road works. He tried to come to terms with what was happening to him, and concentrate upon the road ahead. And that allowed her attitude to harden. In retrospect, there were many things that he would have changed, that night, and if he had been thinking, then, he would have pulled the car over, and talked the matter over with her. But he didn't, instead, he let her have her say. And that seemed right, too. He moved the talk away from that subject, and asked her about her dreams. She was responsive, and bright, but, now, they were approaching her home, and she never finished what she was saying. He stopped the car, and she had the door open, immediately. "Can I have one small kiss, before you go?", he asked, still not knowing, quite, where he was. She leaned across and pressed her mouth to his. She gave him the biggest French kiss that he'd ever experienced, not as a soft, caring, gesture, but as a way of demeaning him. A kind of, 'this is what you could have had'. He felt swamped, and unable to respond. "That's a small one", she said, and was out of the car. He leant across, still feeling confused, "Please don't go", he said. But she was determined, "I'm going", was her response. And, with that, she walked away. It was the last he was ever to see of her. And the memories burned. If he had been less confused, less of himself, then he would have got out of the car, and followed her. An attempt at conciliation, but he didn't, and that was another of the things that he would change, if he could. He turned the car around, and she was gone. He drove away, slowly, and could only feel that confusion. It seemed so insane, how could she misunderstand him so? Was it misunderstanding, or something else, something that he couldn't see? He'd, simply, been himself, hadn't he? He'd only been his own, open, self, hadn't he? To be continue... Part III _____________________________________________________________ Get FREE web-based email at http://webmail.lao.net and get your very own @Qon.Lao.net email address. _ ***************************************************************** Visit SatJaDham Homepage at: http://www.satjadham.org (or .net) *****************************************************************