His Name Is Balash

His name is Persian, an ancient name, one of a king who did mighty things and took a mighty fall. He isn't like me, yet we are so alike. He is a funny, little man with eyes that capture his undaunting spirit and beauty. I look into his eyes and I see worlds forming. I want to be in those worlds with him.

When I'm not with him, I think of him. When I'm with him, I don't see anyone else. When he wants to treat me like a woman, a place inside me just melts. All the hard steele nuggets of resentment towards men and money, become pools of clear liquid. I love being treated like a woman, by a man, so real to me. When I paid for our last dinner, he begged me not to. Then he said, "This time it is OK. But don't ask to in front of my friends. And don't steal the pleasure from me."

Oh Balash. My Balash. I know you are mine. I can't believe you are mine. I can't wait for us to take our first diving trip together, I can't wait to run beside you, I am so eager to travel the planet in search of adventure with you. I can't wait to edit more of your stories and share literature with you. What a life I desire to have with you...I'll keep it my secret for now.

World Girl