Extending the Olive Branch

As my new Irish friend, Mr. Prufrock, described, I am sure Lord Byron was “morto” (Irish slang for “mortified”) upon realizing his error and grievious injury to Seabiscuit’s honor by calling him “Seabag”.

Though he did not apologize, Lord Byron seemed to extend the olive branch that way, though the circumstances were saddening.

Lord Byron explained he has not been well and not himself. He has slept little as he tries to comfort loved ones who are with great grief: his mother slips into depression, a friend who has lost the love of her life, and another friend whose 28 year old daughter is dying of incurable brain cancer. In an effort to cheer him, I sent a lovely photo Seabiscuit took of two trees and a poem I wrote about the photograph.

Lord Byron responded:
The photo is beautiful and the poem you attached quite the best you have sent me. I should also like to have seen a full length photo taken by Seabiscuit of you standing under the trees too…perhaps next time!

Thus, this strange adventure of two men  and this lady connected through Craigslist continues to become more intertwined even though they only know each other’s pseudonyms (though I suppose Lord Byron now knows what Seabiscuit looks like when surrounded by naked ladies.) We shall build our bridges across the pond together, and this tale shall be continued yet further. 

Seabiscuit had previously expressed an interest in experimenting with portraiture photography of women he has met through Craigslist as a new challenge to his usual type of photography (birds and landscapes), so I seized this as an opportunity for us both.
At my urging, Seabiscuit has agreed to this request. We plan to have a photoshoot next Saturday–me sandwiched between the same two trees up north, perhaps frolicking among the autumn leaves. Who knows. But I bet it will be fun, and I am excited.

Thirteen Ways…

I’m not sure what the scoreboard is anymore. The exchanges have become too many, too prolific, too many one-liners. They have also become incestuous. I am writing them about each other, so there is some rivalry going on–at least for Seabiscuit and Njal.

Seabiscuit, I would say, is still in the lead. He has shared two photographs that have inspired me to write poems about the beauty in the photos themselves. And he has inspired 4 ghazals now. I am very proud of the poems I’ve written that are inspired by his presence in my life. They are my best, I know it. We still have yet to meet. His weekends are busy for the next two weeks, so the wait continues…

Njal (thought maybe Don Juan would be a better name at this point) still writes some sexy, erotic poetry. I don’t think I will find anyone who can write better erotic poetry than he can.  Somebody get a hose–I’m on fire! There is some strange magnetic force between us, some dangerous attraction crossing a Translatlantic cable and the entire continental US to reach me. It’s probably for the best we’ve got an ocean of separation; the two of us together might be a destructive fiery force upon the world indeed.

Lord Byron, still trailing third. He write more slowly, but thoughtfully. I’m perfectly charmed by his Britishness. I also laughed when I read he’s enjoyed a few erotic adventures spanking younger ladies. He has shared his photograph; he is the most dignified, dashing, handsome older looking British gentleman you can picture, and picturing him spanking some young women in a BDSM dungeon in London greatly amuses me.

Learning of Lord Byron’s kink produced conversations with the other two about kinks, and whew! What a Thursday morning this was. Never thought I’d hear my name in the phrase “a Felicitas sandwich” in reference to a proposed threesome between me, Njal and Seabiscuit–and both men seemed to be really into it.

My life has taken a very interesting turn of events, indeed. I’ve gone from a history of rejection and neglect to multiple men wanting me at once. I am not used to so much attention. As Njal put it, “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh? Well, Cinderella, your time has come.”

Thoughts of You

Seabiscuit and I have exchanged 90 emails now. What happens when we cross that 100 mark? Will we finally get to meet face-to-face? Will we finally have dinner and go out on a date?

I have mentioned it a few times, but he always seems to talk about some other thing. I wonder now if he has the same worries that I do: what happens next? What if it doesn’t work out? What if the spark only lasts behind the veil of email? What if we lose this friendship we have started? It is a marvel to realize we have exchanged so many words in a little over a month. It was exactly one month three days ago.

In his last email to me, he said he liked the idea of reading to me and that “it seems intimate, like sharing a photo.” I wait now as he decides what he should record for me. He asked me for a few ideas. I said it could be a song (he has mentioned enjoying singing) or some of his favorite poems. I even told him it might be funny to hear him read the poem I wrote for him read back to me — surely, he would read it differently. It would be fun to hear the tones and inflections, what he would emphasize. It could have a completely different reading.

He mentioned one of his favorite poems is T. S. Elliott’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, and that is one of my favorites too. I am very excited about hearing his voice. I want to hear it before bedtime, before I sleep. He has already started to fill my head at that late hour…

Would I be a woman you would have an adventure with? Would I be a woman you’d enjoy sharing your time with? Could we be more than friends? I already feel myself falling — but then there is Lord Byron, who I still am getting to know, whose age remains a mystery, but is rather handsome in the photo I managed to peek at from his book. For all I know, he and Seabiscuit could be the same age.

I have written another poem while thinking about him; it’s titled “Thoughts of You”, but I keep this one, and its inspiration a secret. He will hear the poem eventually, provided I finish this poetry-CD project and send him one… will he know? Will he suspect it was written with him in my mind?

Sunset or Fields of Gold?

Today our team had an offsite event. For team-building, we took a painting class together.

Inspired by a photograph Patrick sent, I painted something he had shown me. However, when I finished and put the painting upside, I couldn’t tell which way I liked it more.

Is it a sunset or fields of gold? Which one do you like best?