northern passion

WTF is it with German men, Blogsie? They seem to have this receptiveness, this relaxed embrace of the world, that many American men seem to lack, and it imparts them with that much more beauty, that much more climate - where I want to be.

I frequent a site (based out of Germany but is international) for men, and I'm always getting 'hits' from Germans. I keep in touch with at least two of them, and there is one who lives in San Francisco, a jovial type, who wants me to see him next time I come up. One of the men in Berlin, a scientist who often travels to the States to lectures and conventions, wants badly to fall in love with me, he and I get on famously because we can talk about things like philosophy, art, culture, and life. He's not exactly classically goodlooking but he has something better - this coolness, this "I-don't-know-what" about him that's incredibly sexy. It's tragic, though, because I'm here and he's there, and for that we both die a little at each thought of it. We've sent each other postcards.

The other Berliner is punkish and urban but has the heart and soul of a poet. He understands me completely, my sensitivities, my dynamism. He sees the same kinds of rare gems in the everyday that I see, and what I see most people don't notice. We take comfort in knowing that we both exist in tandem, even though the world separates us physically. Then there is the fellow sensualist from Honolulu, a tall slim German with peppery hair and a velvety way of writing. We talk about scented candles, oils, kissing with restraint but with an undercurrent of boiling desire, and he is sad I'm not there but wants to come to L.A. in December.

I thrive in little pockets of life, no matter how far away on the horizon.