The Picture

What\'s in a picture? Well, in the picture I cherish there is more
joy and peace and love than any mere mortal like me should ever
know. The picture I am speaking of is the imperfect image of the
one I love. She is one of such exceedingly great beauty that it
cannot be captured on anything by Man\'s hand, but to me it
represents her, and that is as near to heaven as I am likely to

But the picture, besides being an imperfect symbol of utter
perfection, is exceedingly cloudy. The incidental fact that this
exquisite creature of God does not love me, but another, sheds
blazing insight into my dilemma - loving one who does not love you
back - an age-old poignant story.

This is what happens to one who falls in love with a wonderful,
happily married woman. First, there are the moments of exquisite
joy reveling in the sacred celebration of Love. All else seems
unimportant and remote. Then, there are the brief moments of pain
when you are set aside, understandable though it may be, for things
important in her life. That leads to a rebirth of fantasizing that
you perfected in your youth, where she is an innocent passive party
to your feasts of imagination. Then, the final straw is when the
fantasy becomes reality. And as your Love and her lover scale
those endless heights, sadly, you, with tear-misted eyes are left
far below, alone, with that wilted imperfect image clutched in your

The one I love has always, well, I suppose the term is "humored"
me. I have nothing to offer her that would mean anything to her,
except my love, an exceeding cheap commodity to those receiving it;
and inhumanly expensive to those giving it. But she has been free
with her gifts, too. She gave me her picture, my greatest material
treasure; she has given me a few brief moments of platonic joy in
her company; and she has given me an irreplaceable gift, the love
inside of me, something more grand and awe-inspiring than the great

But today, a day in which her nearness is inaccessible to me,
another gift, in absentia, was given to me. You must follow me and
understand that those moments away from my Love are like daggers
piercing my heart. The depths of my emotional depression are
resounding and scary. In moments like this I reach for the
carefully hidden picture. I reached for a moment of joy. Come
back with me for a few moments and I will let you view God\'s heaven
with me:

I gazed downwards with love at your image, the likeness of a
goddess. You were here with me. You did not shirk my touch. You
did not avoid my clumsy attempts to kiss your honeyed lips. Your
sensuous voice that could arouse a eunuch, did not say those words
that send me into despair, "It is time to go now, Jim." You sit
submissively, and smile. I smile back and melt into the close
quarters of the picture with you as the image drifted into reality.
The nearness of you dissipates the agony in my heart. I say, "Hi,
Sandy." You sit there in all of your passionate and sensual
beauty, and smile.

As I anguished in my wallow of self-pity, your beauty radiated up
at me. There you were, right before me, smiling up at me. It is
as if you, . . . well, might have been beckoning to me. As my
emotional "down" subsided another part of me grew. I gazed longing
into your eyes. You gazed back. Then your eyes slowly turned
until you were looking over my shoulder and your smile widened.
Puzzled, I look over too, and was surprised to see Robert standing
there. He is quite naked, his pulsing staff throbbing before him
in all its prideful, yet stately, grandeur. He strode up to you
and enfolded you in his strong arms, his rod preventing him from
full-body contact. He planted a moist kiss full on your luscious
lips forcing open you faintly resisting mouth with his tongue.
Just as his one-minded penis would soon search endlessly your warm
cavern of love, his tongue searched your yearning mouth to be more
a part of you, striving to be one. As he paused for a well-needed
breath he looked over at me and he, too, beamed with a satisfied
smile, "Eat your heart out, Jim." His hands were everywhere on
you, fondling your firm passionate bottom, pulling it close to