I want your body. It’s true. But I want your mind as well. I want to run with you along the ocean, playing, laughing and teasing, as if mirroring the game of the ocean as it laps the shore in the eternity of an ever-renewing familiarity. I notice the sexiness of your athletic curve intensified by the spray of the ocean as it makes your clothing barely a modest second skin. Yes, surely it’s lust. And I like it. But face it: that alone always ends in boredom. With you, it’s so different. It’s that irrepressible rapport and convivial grin in which you challenge me, telling me that Del Toro’s film "The Orphanage" is psychoanalysis as horror-film. Yet before I can marshal a response, you laugh with an evil grin and move flawlessly from an impersonation of Marge Simpson to an American-Idol-worthy rendition of Beyonce. And just as I’m tempted to buy the illusion of your perfection, we collapse breathlessly in the sand and begin to offer to each other the respective stories of our own vulnerability - etched in each other’s bodies as scars.I strive to shelter you in my strong arms and for the moment its an illusion that seems to be enough. After all, it’s all we’ve got: an embrace in which we aspire to heal the wounds beyond words of a life all too human. But this seriousness is really too silly. Too unnecessary. And we laugh out-loud in spite of ourselves. It seems that all the whip-smart, beautiful, cosmopolitan people are in NYC, so I thought I'd at least have a little fun writing, But I am hoping you prove me wrong!

Blind-dates are pre-dates only. A very casual, brief coffee sounds good. If we click, far more. That's my niece in the photo: Darn cute!