BLIND DATE 3	
by MERZ:  mrmerz@yahoo.com
Betty Hunt finds a new sport and a man to play with


When Michael had showered and dressed he and went into the living room. Betty
had dressed and put together a tote bag of things she wanted to take on their
outing. Seeing her body this time was even a bigger shock than seeing her
naked. She wore a snug t-shirt and a pair of snug, stretchy hiking shorts.
When he had seen her dressed on their two evenings together she wore loose
outfits that gave no clue to the power she was hiding underneath. When she was
undressed all the parts seemed to balance together, even if the whole package
was the most muscular woman's body he had ever seen. Dressed like she was this
morning her physique seemed to shout with power. From the top of her shirt
trapezius muscles rose like bookends on either side of her neck. Her arms were
belted in by the short sleeves below her round deltoids, then swelled like
bread loaves to highlight her biceps and triceps. Her chest was thick and
wide, then squeezed down to her waist, even if her waist wasn't what might be
called slender. Her thighs burst out from her shorts, then tightened down
again above her knees. Tie strings for a swimsuit top knotted behind her neck
and anticipation of seeing her in a bikini made his mouth water.

MICHAEL NEWMAN

I was making copies of some depositions when Betty asked me on our first date.
It wasn't really a date the way she brought it up, but that was how it turned
out.

"So Michael, I understand you're the hottest roller blader in the office."

"Well, I get around some." I inhaled the light perfume she wears, so faint it
sort of sneaked up on me the first few times we worked closely together. Like
all of a sudden I realized there was a fresh smell in he air and I realized it
had to be her. "Who told you about roller blading?"

"Just water cooler talk. Would you be willing to show me how to do it? It
sounds like a great sport, more fun than jogging or cycling. I got around on
roller skates when I was a girl. I'll bet I'd surprise you at how quickly I
picked it up."

That last part about surprising me was one of her understatements. She was
always putting out lines like that and waiting for people like me to trip over
them. "Well, I don't know. It is kind of tricky. It takes some balance and
coordination to do it safely."

"Watch," she said, standing on one foot and doing the pat-
the-head-rub-the-tummy routine. "Balance and coordination." She was still
waiting with her hook baited for me to take the big bite.

"I don't know. Lots of people try it and don't like that falling down is part
of learning. Are you sure that would be safe for you?" As soon as I said it I
knew she had me.

"Just because I'm blind doesn't make me fragile. Believe me, I've had a lot of
practice falling down. Are you free Saturday to give it a try? All the bruises
will be mine alone and I've had quite a collection over the years. I'll buy
lunch. Please?"

See, if I had just said I wasn't interested I could have got out of it, but I
had to go through all this evasive BS because I was worried about the blind
woman getting hurt and it would be all my fault. The fact is, I was interested
immediately but was still worried about Betty getting hurt or frustrated and
thinking I didn't believe she could do it, which would make it worse. I had
figured out she could do about anything she put her mind to. In fact I looked
forward to the times I got to work with her partly to see how she would solve
problems, either problems with our work or problems she faced just getting
ordinary things done. "How about ten o'clock, then. I can either pick you up
or we could meet at Marty's Skates in old town."

"I'll meet you. Just tell me the address. What should I wear? Long sleeves and
pants, I imagine?"

"Yeah, that'd be good for a first time. Once you get into it you don't fall as
much and knee pads and gloves are all anyone needs. Marty will take care of
all the pads and helmet for the first time." Betty went back to her office and
I finished my copying and preparing the papers for the trial I was working
support on. I wasn't much use the rest of the day, looking forward to spending
time with Betty and worrying about her spending time with me.

I was at Marty's by 9:30 because I was nervous how Betty would find it. Right
on time I spotted her walking up the sidewalk, feeling her way with her cane.
She was wearing sweats and had her hair pulled back in a pony tail. She's
somewhere in her thirties, I guess, average height with honey blond hair.
Certainly not thin, in fact wide but not paunchy, just sort of solid looking.
I've only seen her in the loose business clothes she wears or in sweats when
we've been at the office on weekends laying out the order of exhibits she
planned to present in a trial, or going over transcripts.

I greeted her and she started feeling for the doorway where she figured
Marty's had to be. "Good morning, Michael. Lovely day for new adventures,
isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. Not so warm that we have big crowds to fight through, and it
looks like the sun will pop out this afternoon." My mouth was suddenly dry and
my palms were wet. She has that effect on me.

"If you call me ma'am again you're fired," she said with a smile lighting up
her broad features. "I let you get away with it in the office because things
are pretty strait laced there, but you make me feel like your maiden aunt.
It's just Betty and Michael today, unless you have a nickname you'd prefer.
Some people call you Slick, don't they?"

"Some people call everyone I know Slick. Michael is best. Let's go in and get
you fitted out."

Marty's is close to a river front park where lots of bladers go. There's an
open area where beginners can get the feel of things before trying to skate on
a path or sidewalk. We got Betty fitted with protection for her elbows, knees
and wrists and a helmet. We carried our skates across the street to the park
area before putting them on. When we sat on a bench Betty folded up her cane
and put it into her day pack along with her sneakers, and pulled out a length
of rubber tubing. I wasn't sure what that was for at first.

I got her standing and talked a little about weight shifts, about keeping the
knees bent and everything loose, and she just took off. She was moving
cautiously, holding my hands and getting a feel for the in-line skates and how
little effort it took to move and how to stop. She was right, she did pick it
up faster than anyone I'd tried teaching. As soon as she felt a little bit
confident with starting, stopping and turning she handed me one end of her
rubber tube and told me to lead the way. The tubing stretched so I wouldn't
pull her down if I accelerated, and if it got too loose she knew I was
slowing. She could just keep a little tension in the tube and follow me as I
skated. Before long we had worked out how to coordinate big arm swings that
were needed to really move on the roller blades. It took a lot of talking to
stay in rhythm, but I was impressed how well we did.

She took a few tumbles, like everyone starting out. Each time she fell I think
it hurt me worse than her. I wanted to beat myself up after one hard fall. We
were moving at a good clip because she seemed to enjoy going fast and acted
pretty confident. She caught a crack with the side of a wheel that sent her
flying. I figured that would be the end of the day, but she did a nice tuck
and roll onto her shoulder when she landed and didn't seem shaken up at all.
She came up laughing and shaking her head, but said she wasn't hurt. I let her
sit a minute to get her breath back, then gave her a hand up.

She stood up right against me and she had her hands on my hips for balance.
"This is so wonderful, I don't think lunch is enough to pay you back. Are you
free for dinner tonight? You may have plans already, I don't know if you have
a date but I want to invite you."

To buy a little time I knelt down to redo one of her buckles that had come
loose when she went down. That put my head at the level her hands had been,
and she felt my scalp. "Why Michael, you shave your head. Is that why they
call you Slick?" she asked as she started rubbing my head.

I told her my hair line was receding so I had started keeping it shaved when I
was twenty-five, so I'd feel in control of the situation. I didn't tell her
another reason was how good it felt and how horny I got when someone rubbed my
head just like she was doing. I wish she could have done that for another
hour, but I was getting so nervous as well as so turned on by it. Finally I
stood back up. "I don't know about tonight, let me think about that. No, I'm
not dating anyone now." I think she smiled when she heard my voice was a
little tight because she had me aroused.

We skated a while more, adding some uphill and downhill, some different styles
of turns and stops. She really did pick it all up quickly, partly because she
showed no fear whatever of falling down. She just took her knocks and got back
up for more. Also she moved well for a woman her size, blind or not. Balance
and coordination, to be sure.

Finally Betty stopped and said, "Is that a hotdog stand I smell? I'm
starving." I looked at my watch and saw it was noon already, and realized I
was hungry, too. I led her to the stand and we got a couple dogs. We ate them
sitting on the grass nearby after we took our skates off. We talked about this
and that for a while - the weather, the office, local politics - and she said,
"So, what about dinner? This has been so fun I really owe you more than a
hotdog. Nothing fancy. How about the Avalon? We can sit out on the deck.
Early, like about 6:30?" Finally I agreed. I was so nervous being out with her
I could hardly talk, but at last I just had to say yes. Now I keep wondering
what would have happened if I hadn't. We finished our dogs and headed back
toward Marty's. I tried showing her a couple more maneuvers, getting her ready
for getting up and down from curbs while still rolling. She was that good
already.

They sat, knees touching, at the small dining table where she had laid out
coffee and a light breakfast. Her costume was so different from her style of
business camouflage dress that Michael just had to say something. "You look
great. How do you decide about clothes when you can't see them or see
reactions of folks?"

"I get a lot of help from some friends who have a clothes shop. We met,
actually, through my brother. This woman, Kathy, offered to help me dress in
ways that would be stylish and professional. I drop by her shop every now and
then and she brings out some things for me to try. I like soft fabrics and a
sense of movement. She advised loose fitting things without belts for everyday
wear. I think she likes my athletic look because she calls over some of the
other girls in the shop whenever I come in and they make a big deal over the
fact I still have muscle left from when I was younger. I guess I am huskier
than most women she sells to. Anyway, she thinks I look good in more form-
fitting outfits for casual wear."

Huskier than most? Any dress that belted at Betty's waist would make her look
like an NFL linebacker, complete with shoulder pads. Michael wanted to meet
this Kathy, the mistress of understatement. She clearly knew how to dress
Betty for effect, but he doubted Betty was aware of the full effect anything
form-fitting had. "Are you aware of how people react to your outfits?" he
asked.

"Well, only indirectly. In this sort of thing or when I go out in a swimsuit I
am aware that people seem to be noticing and commenting. Personally I think
it's good that they aren't focusing on my blindness. That would be one of the
greatest things about having sight. You can look over a crowd and in a couple
seconds get impressions that would let you rank them by height, weight, color,
age, and a dozen other factors. And you can get information from their
expressions and postures. I need to make contact with each one individually,
and then I miss some things. I've been wrong about assumptions on race as you
know, and age. I've thought about eyesight a lot. Somehow seeing things can
distract from getting information other ways. Like, men see something that
gets their attention and suddenly they don't hear what people say to them. My
senses aren't like that. I can be listening to a sound or a conversation and
it can't keep me from smelling dinner

cooking or feeling what a nice thigh you have," she said as she rubbed his
leg.

"Huh? Sorry, I didn't hear you. I was staring too hard."

BETTY HUNT

I got to the restaurant first, nervous as a school girl. I was wearing my
khaki's and the big Hawaiian shirt, with a little straw hat I have. The shirt
comes to my elbows and fits like a tent so it's a safe casual choice. I pulled
my purse off over my head and hung it on the back of my chair after tucking my
Visa into my shirt pocket along with the business card. I recognized Michael's
walk coming across the deck and stood up when he stopped at the table. I had
already ordered a cocktail just to have something to hold so my hands wouldn't
be trembling when he arrived. I hadn't even taken a sip, I just wanted it to
clutch.

"Hi, Betty. It turned out to be a gorgeous evening, didn't it?" I smiled
stupidly and wondered if he could tell how his voice always made my skin
tingle.

"Yes, this has been a perfect day. Thanks to you. Would you like a drink? This
is my treat tonight. I can't tell you how much fun I had today learning to
rollerblade." We made the same inane small talk we had earlier in the park and
I tried to assemble an image of him. Tall and athletic I knew already. Maybe
six-two and all lean muscle. Over the months we have worked together I had
taken a few opportunities to steal some touches and get a general physical
impression. Other blind people are understanding about a request to feel them
over and create an image, but sighted people get nervous so I refrain and
usually have only my ears and nose to go by. Michael's voice had made me melt
the first time I heard it and has gotten hotter for me ever since. He smelled
clean during the day and today when he had been exercising he smelled like a
great healthy animal. I knew he was younger than I am, but couldn't tell by
how much really. He had been in the Army for four years and had gone to
college plus a couple years working before we hired him. I guessed he was in
his late twenties, maybe pushing thirty.

I was sort of spacing out, putting together the pieces I had when I realized I
was being asked about an order. I inhaled deeply and decided someone's grilled
fish appealed to me the most. Michael also ordered seafood and we agreed to
split a bottle of white wine. When the waiter left I took a deep drink of my
cocktail to steady my nerves for the speech I had been rehearsing for days.

We made more small talk until the wine arrived. He asked about sports and I
told him about my rowing in college and how I still like to do it when I can.
I didn't mention weight lifting because that always develops into another long
conversation, sometimes an awkward one. Tonight would be awkward enough.
Finally I proposed a toast to courage and held my glass out where he could
clink his against mine. We sipped, I took a deep breath and said, "Michael, as
a lawyer I believe in full disclosure. I had a wonderful day with you. Now I
have to tell you that I have a terric crush on you. I'd like to know you
better. I want to see you socially, like we did today. Is that something
you're interested in?"

He swallowed hard. He sipped his wine. Then he sipped it again and set the
glass down. "Wow. That came right out of the blue," he said at last with a
tight sound in his voice. "What makes you think you'd want to get involved
with a black man?"

Betty needed to put on sunscreen. Sharing that job nearly led back to the
bedroom, but they did get out the door at a reasonably early hour. She wore
big sunglasses and a wide straw hat. It was the first time Michael had seen
her in dark glasses. She didn't like calling attention to her blindness,
seemingly unaware that today nobody would be likely to look beyond her
physique. Michael drove them to his house where he changed clothes and grabbed
a towel for their outing. On the way out of town they stopped at a deli for
lunch things, and at a bookshop.

Horseshoe Lake Park lies far enough from town that weekend crowds are
manageable. Most people head for the ocean shore in summer for swimming or
boating. The park also has hiking trails and picnic areas around the lake.
It's considered a nice low key spot away from town and crowds. Michael drove
into the parking lot about 10:30. Once she was oriented in the parking lot
Betty was able to lead the way toward the boat rental shack. Michael rented a
rowboat and Betty grabbed a pair of oars off the rack. As her biceps bulged
lifting the oars he did a double take just like the half dozen bystanders,
despite his having had all morning to get used to her muscles.

Holding hands they walked down to the shoreline where the boats were beached.
He carried the bag of food and clothes they had brought while she carried the
oars over her shoulder. She made them look weightless as she carried them down
to the boat they had rented.

MICHAEL NEWMAN

I was torn up in a bunch of directions. On the one hand, I liked Betty a lot.
I always found her fun and smart and considerate when we worked together. And
getting her started rollerblading was the best day I had had in a long time.
Partly because she got such a kick out of, and partly because her doing so
well made me feel good as her teacher, but also because she had been so much
fun to be around away from work. On the other hand there is the race thing.
There's always the race thing from her side and my side both. I have some
sympathy for black women complaining that they get bypassed the first time a
black man gets to be seen with a blonde white woman. And I had to wonder how
it would look for a white woman with a handicap having a black man doing the
things for her she couldn't do herself, like the hired help. And on a third
hand if I had one would be my history with women. I hadn't been in a
relationship in a while, and couldn't get as excited about any women I see the
way I could when I was young, before I went in the army. Somehow that just
wasn't where my interest lay.

So Betty had this surprised look on her face and was moving her head from side
to side the way she always does. Then she reached out in the direction where I
was holding my wine glass and when she found my hand she rubbed it a little
and said, "Funny, it doesn't feel like black skin. Is this a problem for me or
for you?"

"It's more complicated than that. Maybe race isn't a problem for either of us.
But you making more money than me would put me at a disadvantage, or you
needing things done for you would leave you depending on me. It seems like we
hardly live on the same world. That seems like a problem."

Our dinner arrived and we went back to small talk for a while as we ate.

"Have you ever read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?" she asked at last.
"It was popular in the seventies - funny science fiction that I heard first as
a radio play. It describes a fearsome creature on some planet that is
dangerous but very stupid. The defense against it is to blindfold yourself.
The creature assumes if you can't see it, it can't see you and it goes off
looking for other prey that can see it. How about if I can't see race in you,
you assume you can't see it in me either?"

I had to smile at that, then I realized she couldn't see me smiling either.
"That's good. I'll try that. Do you think being blind you don't have any
prejudices?"

"I've always had huge ones. Race is just one that isn't easy for me to make
work. I can't see it and I can't feel or smell it. Sometimes I can guess by
voice, but I can't rely on that. As you know now. I'll tell you one that I've
been ashamed of for years. Fat. In my family when I was growing up, nobody had
any fat on them. Well, my brothers when they were babies, and maybe that
helped make me associate fat with helplessness because they grew out of it.
But I remember when I went to school and I touched a girl who was fat and I
didn't know what it was. She felt soft and squishy. I thought something must
be wrong with her. She had always been nice to me and we were friends. I think
my reaction hurt her a lot. But I still can't get used to the idea of bodies
that aren't solid with just bones and muscles to feel."

I looked across at her, surprised. She was wider than average but always
dressed to conceal her contours, even today when we skated and now tonight. "I
know the feeling. I get that too. How about really thin?"

"The same thing. I hear that men like fashion models to be very thin,
emaciated. I used to buy clothes at a place that had salespeople like that and
I could never figure out how things would fit because I don't have bones
sticking out. And I always felt they were staring at me when I tried things
on. I've always been active and participated in sports. Not having the
strength to do that or move things around in the house just seems unnatural to
me. Now I shop at a place that always has very active, strong women who can
talk to me with some understanding. I don't know how anything looks to others,
but my clothes fit and are comfortable now." She smiled. "Are you aware that
I've checked you out enough to know you're very fit and athletic? It seems
like a track or a basketball body. Very lean and long-muscled."

That was my second surprise. I suppose I should have figured that over the
months she had touched and bumped me enough to get an overall picture, but
since she hadn't ever asked to give me a one-time going over I hadn't thought
about her putting pieces together. All of a sudden I felt at a disadvantage.
Just through routine touching me on an arm or brushing against me she knew
what I looked like, while I was looking across at a big flowery shirt. For the
first time I noticed her forearms looked as big as my calves, and I remembered
her talking about not liking body fat. I sat up a little and looked for more
clues. Her neck looked bigger around than mine too, and sometimes I could see
cords running up and down when she moved or tilted her head. "I think you have
me a disadvantage there. Is that on purpose?" I asked.

"Somewhat. Shops have advised me to dress loosely and conservatively at work.
I guess I carry that over in social situations where I'm unsure of myself. How
about you? Any deep dark secrets to share, now that I've bared my prejudiced
soul?"

"Since you started this talking about full disclosure, I better get this out.
Yeah, I'd think about the race thing but I get past that. But my life is
pretty confused lately. For a few years, really. Let's just say my sexuality
got confused. I like you a lot. I'm flattered that you would spend time with
me. But if you're thinking of romance I may not be the right person." I had to
finish my wine after getting that out on the table, then I put a little more
in her glass and drained the bottle into mine. I squirmed in the chair and
couldn't force myself to sit cool or act nonchalant. I couldn't imagine that I
had said this to any living person, let alone Betty. She looked really shocked
now.

"Are you saying you're gay?"

"Maybe. Maybe one of those latent gay people. I don't know. I just know that
while I was in the army I had some bad experiences and afterwards I got to
admiring strong bodies more than I had before, and women like you describe,
fat or skinny, just turned me off. I look at women now and I just think how
weak they are and how I don't even want to touch them. I feel inside the way
they look to me, weak or soft or something, not able to take care of myself,
and it's just something I don't want to be around. It's like one of us isn't
really a person, and I don't know if it's her or me. Sometimes I think I'm
losing my mind or I'm already crazy or something. Maybe sick. Probably I
shouldn't be telling you this." She had gotten very still. Her eyes looked
like they were watering up. I wished I could drop through the floor, or suck
back the words or turn back the clock to this morning and tell her I didn't
want to teach her rollerblading. "I think maybe we should call it an evening,"
I said after neither of us had said anything for a minute.

She took a business card out of her pocket and held it out to me. She had
written her home phone on it. "This has been even harder than I expected. If
you would like to follow up, just call me, but I'm going to leave it with you
to make the next move. Otherwise we can both pretend this conversation never
happened. I can try to just go back to seeing you at work like the other
people there. But first, I want you to feel this. See me as I am."

She stood up and extended her arm to me. I put my hand on her bare forearm. It
felt warm and solid. She tensed it and it grew wide under my fingers. She
raised her arm and flexed it and I felt a great hard ball form under her
sleeve. I couldn't get my hand halfway around it. I felt up to her big hard
shoulder and left my hand resting there. After we stood like that for a few
moments she put her arm down and went in and asked them to call her a cab. I
waited with her, neither of us saying anything. Before the cab came I had to
wipe sweat off my head twice. I don't know why I didn't just offer to drive
her home.

She took her place in the middle of the boat and set up her oars as Michael
pushed off and settled into the stern. She told him to navigate for her by
sighting from the boat shack to a tall pine tree at the far end of the lake.
About two-thirds of the way up the arm of the lake he would see a tree
drooping into the water on the left shore. They would land there. As she began
rhythmically dipping and pulling the oars Michael began reading aloud from The
Wind in the Willows, the book he had picked up on the way. Its romantic views
of boating and its fantastic characters gave a cheery atmosphere to the
outing. His reading was often distracted as he watched Betty's arms and legs
flexing as she rowed. Twice he had her adjust course toward the landmarks she
had described. After about fifteen minutes of rowing he asked her to stop and
let him feel her arms that swelled from the exercise. When she flexed her
upper arm mounded like a canteloupe, round and hard. Her biceps was split up
the middle, either half being at least as large as Michael's own upper arm.
The boat ran ashore at the drooping tree she had described and she jumped out
and pulled the boat up securely. Michael gathered their things from the boat
and she led the way up a trail into the brush surrounding the lake. She walked
easily, feeling with her feet for tree roots or other hazards and letting her
hat detect low branches she needed to avoid. After a little way she turned off
the trail onto a more obscure path that opened into a clearing. When Michael
joined her she was beaming and spread her arms wide saying, "Welcome to my
magical spot."

BETTY HUNT

Michael finally called on the fifth night. I don't know if he avoided me at
work until then, but we didn't talk. His voice had the same tight, nervous
tone as when we last spoke Saturday night. He said he did want to see me
again. He needed to see me again. Trying to move back toward the comfortable
tone we had hit for a while on Saturday I asked if he liked to dance. He said
he did so I suggested a spot near where I live, unless he had somewhere he
liked to go. We agreed on my suggestion and I said I would meet him at eight.
The whole conversation sounded so hard for him, a struggle to talk to me
again. I was trying to make choices easy for him where I could, but he still
had to take some steps.

I decided to walk the four blocks from my apartment. After doing everything I
could to distract myself all day long I still sat at home dressed and ready to
go for an hour before I finally let myself start out. Halfway there I
recognized Michael's steps coming up behind me and smiled, knowing he was
arriving twenty minutes early just like I was. I stopped and let him catch up.
He stopped a couple feet in front of me and said hello so I would know he was
there. My smile felt tight but I had thought out some ways of getting past the
awkwardness left from last week. We both felt exposed, me for declaring my
interest in him and him for being up front with me about his doubts and
insecurities. "Hi Michael. Let's start with the kiss we forgot at the end of
our last date," I said and raised my face to see if he would go along. He did,
and it was a sweet, quick kiss that gave me some assurance I wasn't wasting
time with him and had hope of getting past the oddness at the end of our last
conversation. Okay, so he was thinking date, too, not just a conversation.

Then I folded my stick and held out my arm so he could lead the way to the
club. Usually I prefer holding the other person's arm so I can let go if I
need to, such as if I stumble or they do, but tonight I was pretty sure I
wouldn't want to let go. He took my arm and from the way he was subtly feeling
my biceps and triceps I figured he wouldn't let go easily either. I was
wearing my lightest silk blouse so he wouldn't have any difficulty doing just
this sort of exploring. When we got to the end of the block with still one
block to go I turned to him. "How about we just go to my place and talk first.
The club is open until two. I think we need to talk about some things before
we go any further." He agreed and we swung around. I told him the address so
he could lead. I know the way, but walking arm in arm was throwing off my step
counts, and I would want my stick if I were the one to guide us safely to the
stairs.

Once we were inside I flicked on the lights. Anticipating getting him back to
my apartment I had switched off most of the living room lights that connected
to the light switch so only two lamps in the corners of the room came on. That
seems to be how other men I've had over prefer the lighting when I leave it to
them to reduce the number of lamps on. "I only have beer, wine and brandy, or
fruit juice. Can I offer you something?" I said as I pointed him toward the
seating area.

"A beer would be fine," he said, still sounding nervous and tight. I waited
until I heard where he sat down then I went to kitchen and poured his beer and
my wine into glasses and came back and placed them on the coffee table. He had
sat on the couch so I took the easy chair by the same corner of the table.

"Last time you said we hardly live on the same world. Would you like to see
how true that is?" I asked. When he said yes I got down into position to arm
wrestle him. I don't know what his reaction or thoughts were, but he went
along. I needed to boost my elbow on a pillow to reach his hand. I said go and
pushed his hand slowly but very steadily to the tabletop. "I'm stronger than
you are. And I went to school longer. And I make more money. And I'm helpless.
Last week I went to my usual clothes shop downtown, a place I've been a dozen
times. I get off the bus and walk two blocks and there it is. Last week the
city was doing some street work and had changed an intersection from a signal
stop to a four way stop. I heard cars stopping when they shouldn't have,
according to the map I carry in my mind, and suddenly I had no idea what
intersection I was standing at. I had to ask people where I was and what
direction I was heading. We don't live in the same world, but I wonder how
many places we could find where my world touches yours. You also said you
wondered about being gay."

"That possibility went right out of my head a couple seconds ago," he said,
and rubbed a gentle hand on my cheek. "So, not fat and not skinny. Just real,
real strong?" He had lost the nervous sound. Now he sounded surprised, but
more relaxed and curious.

"I didn't just row in college. I was in the women's weightlifting club. I was
a competitive power lifter for four years before I went to law school. A heavy
weight. I held some regional records. I still look like a power lifter because
I spend about three hours a day lifting weights while I listen to tapes about
evidence and cases and depositions and things. Listening while I exercise
helps me remember facts and understand relationships among pieces. Is what I
look like an area where our worlds can touch or one where I'm off on my own?"

He shifted his hand from my face to my arm, feeling the shoulder and around
the muscles on my upper arm. "Why don't we have that dance you suggested? What
sort of music do you have?" He was sounding more relaxed and more interested
every moment.

We started dancing to some slow jazz ballads and I began undoing the buttons
on his shirt as he ran his hands over my shoulders and back and down onto my
butt. "I'll bet we weigh about the same. Are you going to feel better if I
carry you over the couch or if you carry me?" I asked. "I don't have any
lights in the bedroom so you'd be at something of a disadvantage if we went
back there right off. Let's get to know each other where you can see what
you're doing. Tomorrow I'd like to take you rowing."

This was familiar territory for Betty. She knew where to spread a blanket and
lay out bread, cheese, fruit and other treats for a picnic. Michael looked
around and thought about why the spot was so special for her. The shore was
mud, not sand. The clearing had more weeds than grass growing in it. The
surrounding brush wasn't very green and had a lot of brambles. But it was
quite secluded, open to the sunlight overhead and within sound of the lapping
lake. The underbrush filtered sounds and gave birds a place to land and
twitter. Closing his eyes Michael could easily imagine it to be as magical as
Betty found it. At that moment he decided his world and Betty's touched at a
great many places, and with a little imagination he could see himself as
magical as she apparently did as well.