Dance With Me?

I looked out the window and they were dancing…
Oblivious to my gaze, they let themselves get swept away by the heat of the moment and I…
I watched… and my body ached for something only my heart remembers.
To dance.
With myself…
With the music...
With the rhythm…

To dance with him…
Was to erase all the world but for the music and the dance floor…
Just us… me and him… and the music.

We'd gently get close at first.
I'd feel his body and he'd feel mine…
We'd learn each others movements and adapt them to our own… and then the more daring steps would begin.
I recall his tight grip…
The strength of his arm around my waist…
One look into the hunger in his eyes and I dared to be move, to take defying steps…
To let him turn me, twist me, dip me and sway me around the dance floor as if it were all ours and no one else's.
The sweet scent of his sweaty neck, the heat that his breath burned upon my own…
His hands were liquid volcano each time he touched my bare skin and I felt his heart racing each time I beckoned him closer…
Closer…
As if our bodies couldn't reach close enough.
Dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal desire…
We'd lock eyes and we'd hold each other, as being in each other's arms was our sole purpose for living.
Each time I pulled away, it was if my heart was being torn from my chest…
Then he’d pull me back as if he’d make love to me right there on the dance floor.
My every muscle and nerve answered to his touch, to his demand.
Slaves to the music…
Fast and intense…
Slow and torturous…
And when the music stopped…
I’d hang on to him for as long as I could, I'd gasped for air and know that I was ruined for life.

Oh to dance with him…
To feel alive.
Like a woman…
With taboo's and no restrictions.
The dance floor is my chosen prison.
My church…
the place where I heal my hurts…
Where I feel whole.

Anyone who dances will tell you… the music ends too soon.
Just when you're enjoying it the most, just as you've gotten the hang of it; the music stops and it's over.
You can start over, switch partners and wait for the next song but it will never be the same dance you began with.
Because they're all different… unique…
Each dance holds its own steps, its own story, its own memory.

They danced as if no one were watching; I suspect that even if they knew that I was… they wouldn't have cared.
Closing my eyes, I danced with him along with them on the pavement.
We moved in close, danced… and smiled at each other.
All was forgiven, words ceased to have importance.
All that mattered was that he dances with me and I danced with him.
I miss him sometimes.

Tragedy isn't when the music comes to an end…
It's when the music ends and you realized that lost the opportunity to dance.
It's the regret no one should have.

To dance,
To speak your soul’s language with your body.
To gesticulate your desires with each movement.
To Trust.
To be trusted.
And to know that whatever happens, all that matters is that you enjoy yourself.

Dance.
Every chance you get…
With whomever destiny picks as your partner…
As if no one were looking…
Because life is short and you never know if you'll get a chance to dance.

Blogoworld

Picture taken from: www.imaginethatstudios.com/writing/index.html

Once in every while, perhaps twice a week; I take time off to do precisely what you're doing right now… to read someone else’s thoughts.
If there's one thing I love about the Internet and blogs in specific, is the freedom of expression… to write and express thoughts and emotions.
My favourite blogs are on the links to your right… feel free to visit those that inspire me.
Some are written like diaries…
Others are homes to images and photographs…
Then there's the poetry…
I especially love the poems; they seem to touch the bottom of my soul and remind me of a time when I felt the world was one big prose.
Then there are the stories…
The facts…
The fiction…
All opinions…
All perspectives of the form of expression.
And I lose myself… in the world of those who write them. Because somewhere in them is a reality known to me, in a twisted sense that only I and the writer would understand.
I don't particularly like giving my blog´s link to someone I know…
It's like giving them the key to your treasure chest…
The power to attack your Achilles heel…
It has very little to do with fear of criticism (I welcome all and any!)
And more with the fear that the reader won't understand…
Will misinterpret…
For a writer is far more than all the pieces of literature that he (in this case she) could write altogether.
Every sentence is a mere window to the writer’s soul… but not the full picture.
Strangers seem to understand this concept better.

There are people I avoid mentioning my blog to, for the simple reasons that there are sides to me they need not know.
Against my better judgment, I recently gave one of those someone’s the link to my blog… but I've quit fearing the consequences, in fact, it scares me that I'm scared of so little these days… fear is what makes us human… to have no fear is to have lost the blood within your veins to feel.

But returning to the words of those that inspire me…
I went through a blog of someone who began writing in order to relieve her soul… it's been a year and with it, she’s managed to map out her progress and the change brought about in that period of time.
http://thmys.blogspot.com/2006/08/one-year-old.html
She reminds me of someone who began writing for the same reasons, and then stopped… for the exact reason she began writing in the first place.
I miss her writing that always began and ended with sensuality.
Then there the spaghetti blog… the one that has no set schedule and that most of the time, I struggle to make sense out of. I realize though… that each entry is a piece, a fragment of a thought or a moment that the writer needed to get out his system.
Thoughts… opinions… some merely tell a story.
And who doesn't love a good story… I certainly do…
To be taken to the place that others create and lose myself within the tale.
You'd be surprised at the good literature put out there by simple people… people that during the week have jobs and families. That person could be occupying the chair in the cubicle next to you and you'd never know how deep that person's soul goes if you didn't know their thoughts, expressed in the form that only writing can take.

I read a piece that left me melancholy… I've met people who’ve lost their essence and choose to remain empty… a condition so sad and desolate that it makes my soul grieve for their death. This piece perfectly described these living zombies, stealing my breath and extracting a tear from my eye:
http://ascoresdemadalena.blogspot.com/2006/08/12-o-mundo-uma-casa-que-no-minha.html
I'd felt a similar emotion upon reading the following:
http://fantasyadream.blogspot.com/2006/08/poeira-do-tempo.html
But it was in the first poem that I read an opinion that peaked my curiosity. Strong and sincere, I was curious to its owner so I clicked on the commenter´s name and before I knew it, I found myself within another blog. Most of the most interesting blogs I know, I've found through this method but as I explored more… my heart skipped a beat.

Do you believe in signs?
I don't mean coincidences – God and Destiny are too great for those to exist.
I mean signs… like the kind that remind you that you're on the right track.
Or worse… the kind that bring up the thoughts you avoid in your head.
Like the smell of a certain perfume when a stranger walks by you…
Or that song playing on the radio…
A saying that was elsewhere once repeated…
Simple things, little things, which your brain immediately connects to a memory or a thought that’s filed in the back of your brain.
That feeling of deja-vu or that constant reminder.
Sometimes, it's the work of an angel that reminds me to pick up the phone and call one of my friends that either also thought of me all day or needed that particular contact.
Other times it feels like confirmation… as if I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to.
And there are times when it's the annoying insistence of a thought that won't get out my head… and that's what the new found blog was.
Another reminder.

A lot of people ask me about my expectations of my up and coming trip.
Am I excited? (Dumb question!)
Am I planning to see all the faces I once knew? (Dumb but reasonable question… yes I plan on touching base with all my old friends)
Do I plan on exploring? Tourist or Inhabitant? What are the changes I'm meant to find? (Now there's the tricky question!)
What are my true expectations?
I don't know…
I picture myself getting off the plane, walking out with my luggage and then putting my arms around the people I love!
After that… I'm on God’s good graces.
No emotion that I’ll feel afterwards seems greater than that moment…
The moment where I breathe Johannesburg’s polluted air; take a deep breath and feeling that sweet surrender we all feel on arriving home…
Home… is that truly home? It once was… what does it feel like now?
I don't know – so quit asking me!
I suddenly remembered the reasons why I'm counting down… because more than a holiday, I'm returning to the place where I can hear myself think, lower my defenses and listen to my heart.
To breathe and feel… that's what I most look forward to in 21 days…

Sometimes I wonder why I still write… I wonder if what I'm writing is still making a difference to those who read it. I know the opinion of most of my readers… even those that don't leave written comments. And even so I question of investment of time and effort… perhaps because after three years of writing, there are things that are often repeated even if not said in the same way. But as I commented on a friend’s blog, I wrote to her what I write to you know: Never write for others for your writing will feel fake and forced. After all… after all these centuries, I'm pretty sure everything that could be said; has been said before and the difference lies… in who says it and where it comes from. In other words, write from your heart; say it from your soul and your writing will always be an original.

Assessing the Balance

Photo source: unknown

I found an old friend that I hadn't seen or spoken to in thirteen years and suddenly my life was put in reverse and slow motion where I was allowed to savour all my nostalgic memories one by one.
Most were happy, I relived the best years of my life but there were one or two moments that made me flinch or laugh out loud at myself.
One of those memories was Mr. Timetable.
Oh yeah! - Trust me to fall in love with the one guy in school that went out with almost every girl in the playground.
Ten years old and I drooled over a sports fanatic with an ego the size of the planet and the vocabulary the size of the cricket ball he seemed to be fascinated with.
And what pray tell attracted me to this creature?
Well he did have a pair of the bluest eyes I'd ever seen (don't trust blue eyes ladies, the label on those two suckers says: “manipulator” and if you got them at a bargain they'll come as: “shameless liar” as well!)
But his eyes weren't really what attracted me to him; I have to confess that my downfall was the fact that he was the junior photocopy of Patrick Swayze. And at a time where Dirty Dancing was the movie watched at least twice a day, silly me couldn't help but associate the brace face jock to the God of dance himself.
And would you believe that this fascination lasted most of my primary school years?!
Here I was madly in love with something that looked like something I longed for and in the meantime he couldn't have been more the opposite of what I wanted! With an attention span of a locust and a soul about as deep as my bathroom sink, I'd say I was pretty much off the mark!
I'm happy to report that the choices that followed had a hell of a lot more to do with me than the guy, but at least with this one I actually managed a spot in his “new-month-different-girl” calendar.

When contemplating such wrong moves, we tend to ask ourselves what went wrong right after we scream out “What the hell was I thinking!”
After analyzing my last attraction, I decided that the reasons hadn't changed much over the years. So what is it that women see in losers?
Potential.
We’re like the artists that look at a rock of marble and sees something beyond the rough edges, yearning to sculpt out the image we see in our minds. There are those that like clay have the potential to be mould into whatever they think they want to be and then there are those that have drawn the blueprints of a building in their heads and only have yet to construct…
But as wonderful as this sounds, a dream only becomes reality when you make it happen. “Almost” is just a politically and nice way of saying; It didn't happen.
Behind every great man is a great woman and most woman seek to be the jewel that crowns her man as king.
As noble as this seems, it implies going a lot misfits before you find your man and a hell of a lot of disappointment when you realize that most of them never achieve even half of their true potential.

Returning to my latest eye catcher, I got myself wondering what it was about this one that captivated me. It didn't take long to find the answers:
Potential – no doubt, he definitely promised to be more than he seemed.
Depth – Or am I standing at the shallow end of the pool?
Intelligence – Perhaps what I'm hearing is sharp wit caught on a crash course of “What women want to hear - charm and impress”
Once again, it can be concluded that I've read too much into the young man's potential and while this is considered a female weakness. I consider is a regretful consequence of a woman’s tendency to look for the best and the good in everything she sees and does… including men. We’re suckers for the weaker sex.

Fortunately, wisdom and maturity teaches a woman when to let go of a lost cause…
I'd like to think I've gotten better at it over the years though I confess that I've never been one to lose the faith easily.
How to get loose?
As one of my bosses would say: “compare figures”
Remember that when you add a whole bunch of potentials, all you really have is nothing. Go on solids, count only the certainties. And once that inventory is taken; look yourself in the mirror and ask if the effort is worth the investment.
If you're honest with yourself, you'll be pretty surprised with the answers that add up.
Talk is cheap – anyone can feed you words; if they don't come from the heart then they're as good as noise.
That look in his eye could be an allergic reaction; the sweet smile was actually meant for the secretary and he invited you for coffee because he needed you to brief him on the latest information he missed out.

Don’t bother asking your heart; filled with hope it will only misguide you and help you to read between the lines that weren’t printed in the first place.
I've learnt that when a man likes you, nothing can keep him away and therefore, if he doesn't put in the effort, then neither should you.
(Even if I'm wrong, who would want a coward by their side!)

Re-evaluating the most recent of my interests, I decided that it really makes no sense to want to get to know someone that isn't interested in getting to know me.
Why want him to know what he missed out on?
Ignorance is bliss and if destiny is cruel, he’ll find out eventually at a point where it no longer makes a difference.
Women look and see too deep… men look and see no further than the surface.
And this is the screwed up difference in the perspective of the sexes.

The last I heard, my first crush was still single, still arrogant, still good-looking and still losing friends over women that he doesn't date for very long.
As for the recent crush; I was hoping to find out more but to try and get to know someone who barely registers your existence is about as productive as a fan that reads up on her favourite celebrity: useless information that has been stretched and adapted to impress and distract the reader from reality.
My first crush also happened to be my first kiss… behind a building so no one could see. I remember my palms going sweaty and my body going numb. My cheeks wanted to burst and I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do! He leaned it and touched lips with mine and before I could even feel their warmth… it was over.
That was it?!
No rush to the head, no fireworks?
Hell there was more emotion in the anticipation then in the whole process itself. I guess that's life's cruel way of preparing you for the reality that awaits you… And men still wonder why we women value foreplay!
As for the current – let's just say that excess anticipation is torture to the female brain!

Do we really know better with the passing of time? Does growing older guarantee better knowledge? Most people don't identify with children because they forgot what it's like to be one or feel like one… is it all that different?
After reminiscing down memory lane with my youth fresh in my mind, I looked in the mirror to look for the differences developed in the last thirteen years.
My face matured but I still looked the same… same nose, same lips, and even the same expressions although somewhat more controlled.
The biggest difference was found in my eyes, not in so much in colour and mostly in depth. The windows to my soul.
Is that maturity I see? Or is that the organization and insecurity portrayed by life's experiences?
The way I see it, deep down we're still our former childish selves thinking we know more simply because we’re bigger and so we call ourselves adults.
Because I'm older do I necessarily understand the world better?
I recall working the remote control better as a kid than now as an adult, perhaps the same goes for love…?
Have remote controls really become more complicated?
Does the intensity of feelings truly differ so much with the years or do we just find more ways to analyze and describe them?
We fool ourselves into believing that if the description is different and the conditions were different then so were the sentiments.
Does it hurt less? Does it hurt more or is it just what we tell ourselves or order to make it feel different… mature.

Time passes and I grow, I learn and I polish my perspectives but something inside me stays the same… is it the heart? Is it the soul? Or is it my inner child?
Life is bleak if you can't see it through the eyes of a child… where’s the intelligence in taking things for granted? Where the pleasure of tomorrow if you can't see it as an adventure?
Failure is when you forget that fun was the reason you started it all in the first place! Happiness… Love… Smiles…
That's what we’re all in it for!

Looking back, I came to only two conclusions:
You can only sincerely evaluate a certain period of your life once it's over, so why over analyze the present?!
And I don't regret any of the mistakes I made; only the ones I didn't attempt.

Life is short – dance naked.

S.O.S

Let me in…
Allow me to see you, to look in your eyes and see your soul.
I want to learn how your heart works.
To know the warmth of your smile…
Consent to my touch…
To discover every contour of your face…
I'd like to know your every angle by heart…
To know your thoughts is to risk falling in love…
I'll take my chances.
No Fear… give me permission into your forbidden world.
Show me what lies beneath the surface
I want to drown in the emotion that lies within the depths of your being.
To surrender to madness
And find that everything makes sense.
Oh bittersweet frustration to have you close…
To feel you far…
To want you near… to want you gone.
Let's do something insane!
The truth lies in a kiss, how will we know if we don't…
Pride.
I won't beg… but I suffer
With your indifference
With the desire to rip apart your defenses
Withholding nothing back…
I can't make you see beyond what you think you see
I can't force you to feel
I'm only as close as you let me…
Let's stop standing in the doorway
Slam the door or pull me in
Don't look at me that way and expect me to turn away.
Explain what my eyes can't tell my heart
Who are you?
What moves you?
Are there any answers to my questions?
Is what I see an illusion or only the surface to your ocean?
I want to swim into your depths
Am I permitted to see?
Let me in.

You won't regret it.

City Talk

There's nothing that pisses me off more than when people say the exact opposite of what they mean to say. You can't argue that they're lying because objectively they're not… however, when analyzing their words you find that the meaning doesn't correspond to the intention. It's clever and to those who use this type of language… diplomatic or friendly. It's a way of making you seem nice when you really don't give a shit.
It's annoying and it irritates the living daylights out of me!
It's a language most used in the big cities and although you don't pick it up right away, after a while you learn to decipher the hidden meaning behind the “good intention”.
Having heard enough bullshit to make me sick, there are certain phrases that are certain like for instance:

“Here’s my number, if you ever n want to go our or do something you just give me a call.”

Translation:
This number is meant for emergencies only. I don't really ever expect you to call unless you want to invite me to some amazing party everyone is going to or unless you're the bearer of the kind of good news the benefits me.

“If you need anything, just give me a call”

Translation:
If you're dying, I’ll probably take some time to come put a band aid on so that I can tell everyone how I'm your hero.

Here’s one of the top ten!:

“Damn! I was just about to call you!”

Translation:
I forgot your existence so it's good that you called otherwise I'd probably end up erasing your number from my phone list.

Bullshit!
It's the nice things people say to hide their true intentions and it's probably what I hate most about the big city.
Be rough… be cruel… be harsh… but be straight forward.
Say what you mean and mean what you say!
Is it really that hard?

Here’s my utmost favourite:

“That sounds great; we really need to do that one of these days…”

Translation:
…in perhaps two or three lifetimes from now.

I've learnt not to take this kind of talk personally and as they say in my “third world country” When shit talks and bullshit walks… smile!
Am I really the one missing out or is this kind of rejection no more than a mixed blessing?
I’d rather be quiet than dishonest and although I'm a bitch, I'm straightforward and those around me know what they can count on.
People live their lives complaining about the opportunities they miss out on and then they wonder why.
It takes two to tango and only one to dance alone.

Searching for Experience

She complained about the relationship that had stood the test of time. Together since they were fifteen years old, she lamented the fact that she hadn't experienced other men, other relationships…

She needed a wake up call!!!!!

If a woman experiences one relationship instead of ten, it's less nine times that she got her heart broken.
Less nine times she got betrayed.
Less nine time that she lost her faith and trust in love.
Less nine times that she had to pull herself up from the darkness.
Less nine bags of trash she needed to clean out before entering in a new relationship…

If a woman has the luck of having one long term and wakes up to the same face each morning then…
She has the privilege of experiencing all first hand moments with the same face…
The privilege of recalling those moments with the same face…
The privileges of recognizing every angle and every change on that face…
The privilege of finding that face with her eyes closed
The privilege of that face knowing and loving hers for who and what she is.

If a woman is in a relationship based on trust that allows her the freedom to have a big group of both female and male friends then…
She learns the bad experiences from others rather than hurting herself…
She gets to know her male friends at their most intimate without having to involve herself in a relationship with them…
She can relate at different levels with her different friends.
She get enough life experience from those around her to appreciate her man.

Love,
Trust,
Not to be taken lightly nor found at every corner nor built within mere days. What she has most women never find. That is experience!

My friend sat on a wall with me clearly free from doubt and the desire to embrace and appreciate her man clearly shone on her face.

First hand experience is overrated… because doing it all doesn't necessarily mean that you feel it all, live it all and figure it all out.
It's important to try new things, but it's even more important to know what you got and know what it is that you should hold on to.

Porto

When I was young, I recall looking out of my bedroom window and wishing to see further than my eye already knew. I wanted to travel and my heart yearned to pack a bag and adventure out to places that I'd only heard of.
People often make the mistake of associating distance to traveling; it is wrongly thought that the further you go, the more you know.
The way I see it, it's not how far you go or what you see but what you experience that defines your journey and traveling expertise.
This time, my trip wasn't all that far. Three hours on the Alpha Pendulum; that’s how long it took me to arrive in Porto and visit the city known for wine and good disposition.
I was told that Dom Pedro fell in love with Porto's charms, I have no difficulty in understanding this; before arriving, I could tell from the architecture and the green surrounding it that the city was built on charm and enchantment.
Perhaps it was the air that was lighter, maybe it was the fact that the traffic was calmer but without a doubt the inhabitants had a light hearted attitude that allowed one to relax and feel welcome.
Closing my eyes, I felt myself being transported back a couple of centuries where ladies and gents hustled and bustled about in the city. Businesses were specified and were built up by reputation. Fishing was making a living instead of a sport and those looking for a coin, shined shoes and carried shopping bags rather than indicate parking spaces.
Change is the only guarantee the future gives you.
And yet, Porto seems to be one of those cities that developed maintaining its roots.
One has merely to look at architecture… The city boasts the Crystal Palace and the Music House: The one has stood the test of time; the other seems to exemplify the future.
Sitting on the margins of the river in Gaia, I considered the one thing that time hasn't touched… Love.
Couples sitting on the margins of the river exchanged looks of tenderness and whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears. No matter how far back I try to imagine, I can still see them playing the same games of love with one another.
Love is a universal language and the culture that stands the test of time.

But my reasons for visiting had little to do with tourism and more to do with an exchange program set up by my company in order to give me the opportunity to get to know another department's ins and outs and obtain a better know how of another piece of the engine that makes our company function.
And although the trip to Porto was the perk of the experience, the truth is that I got more the exchange than I'd expected.
Aside the professional points that are more specific and technically directed to my working interests, what most impressed me has more to do with the people and working environment.
After working in Lisbon for ten months, I'd grown used to the individualistic ambition that comes with living in a big city. At first one's spirits are dampened but after a while, you learn to accept the environment for what it is as one would when integrating in another culture. You adapt. You blend and eventually you forget what it's like to be a part of a different reality.
In our call centre in Porto, I was reminded of the positive side of human nature, achieved when ego is set aside to work for a common purpose.
Teamwork.
Respect.
Comradeship.
People with different perspectives and ideas, interacting with the intent of working as a unit with a common purpose and goal.
Work and play sit on an even scale.
They work hard, but they play with the same zest.
I finally felt what has been missing in the last ten months and I felt like somehow I'd arrived home.
At first we were a bit shy and awkward but after the first jokes were shared, it felt as if I'd known them for years.
There was the calm colleague that reminded me of my yoga teacher, the energetic one with all the cool ideas, there was the jester and joker, the fashion fanatic, the sweet one, the girl next door, the smiley one and the one that ate yoghurt with a Chinese chopstick.

I loved their good humour, their jokes, their accent and the way the men always let the ladies go first… now that’s the kind of good manners that missing in modern days!
I loved their river with it's seven bridges, their clean beaches with ample boardwalk on the side for bikers and joggers and children and people that just wanted to enjoy the scenery,
I enjoyed a francesinha and promised to try the tripas next time I came around.
I love Porto!

A strange wave of melancholy washed over me as I said my goodbyes and sat in the charming train station of Gaia where the floors were still made of wood and the lamp posts of steel and if you ignored modern robes and the vending machine, you could swear you were in another century.
I didn't buy a souvenir; I didn't feel like I had to.
Porto gave me enough of itself to take in my heart with me home.
On the way home we passed Coimbra and I decided that Coimbra is definitely another place on the Portuguese map I'd like to see before adventuring out.

Life is about the journey rather than the destination.

The Odds

What I most love about talking to strangers in the exchange of perspectives and ideas that cultivate understanding or shapes your own.
In a discussion between three colleagues, we debated a theory that I rarely give much thought to.
Homosexuality.
I know what it is, I respect if for what it is and it makes little or no difference to my reality due to the fact that a person's sexual orientation has never affected my relationships.
I've been lucky enough so far to never have fallen in love with a man that's attracted to men. Although in my opinion, the motive of the rejection doesn’t make much difference in its weight.
If anything, I'd say that homosexuality is an easier reason to digest than any other.
In my female perspective, I reckon I'd feel less crushed when told that I wasn't desired due to my sex which I can do little or nothing about rather than the reasons that have the ability to cause doubts and insecurities about myself.

All of this I already considered with the exception of the very point we were debating. In one person’s opinion, it is probably easier for two gay men to attract one another and maintain a relationship than it is for two women. The arguments were:
1. Men have similar interests whilst women's interests are more varied. Two men would have few qualms in watching the same kind of movies or taking up the same sport. Most women can't even agree on the clothes they wear.
2. Men rationalize in a basic and objective way and therefore they don't vary much in opinions permitting an easier flow of communication. Whist women are very individualistic and strong defenders of their ideas.

We discussed more reasons in fine details however they all ended up falling under these two points.
Great!
As if men aren't scarce enough as is those that do exist have a tendency to choose each other. I recalled a documentary on the discovery channel that explained how there's a higher probability of a man being born with homosexual tendencies than a woman.
More bad news! That just narrows down the odds even more!

Facing all this information, a woman might as well fall into desperation if hoping to find a mate (welcome to the modern age crisis!)
At first I thought this was an exaggeration but at this point I'm one of those that have lost hope on finding a decent, single, secure, heterosexual man with similar interests that I'm able to feel the magic with.
Mission Impossible… there are better chances of winning the lottery!
It's searching for the extinct or praying for a miracle.

What does a man really offer more than a woman (forgetting of course the additional physical member which nowadays can be replaced with something that runs on batteries)
Nowadays women are handy with a screwdriver and what we can't do ourselves, we pay someone that can.
Our poor geographic orientation instincts are solved with maps or GPS.
Electric can openers, portable mini drills and instruction manuals… there's a replacement for every male utility you can think of!

Almost…
What I most value from the opposite sex begins with a man's touch, that masculine touch and texture that has no substitution. It can be argued though that a woman has more sensibility and knowledge of the female body to better pleasure another woman. But I wouldn't trade the caress of a man for the caress of a woman in any circuimstance.
Then there's that male scent that no fragrance can imitate. Male perfumes can be sprayed on anyone or anything but there's a scent that is found on a man's neck, between his ear and his hairline that simply can't be fabricated!
And then there's a man's embrace…
No woman, friend or teddy bear can possibly replicated the comfort and security found in the arms of the man you're in love with.
It's heaven on earth when a woman let's go of all her defenses to surrender to the safety and the strength of her man's embrace.
I can't think of a moment when I feel more of a woman that in my man's arms.

But as a colleague of mine one argued: it's an emotional illusion! Like chocolate or ice cream. Everything in enjoying one feels right and healthy but just as men… their destination is your hips!
Is the momentary satisfaction worth the long term delusion?

I wonder…
The more that times passes, the more of certain of life's aspects such as love and healthy relationships seem to sound like fairytales or dinosaurs on the brink of extinction. Hope begins to fade even to those that believe… few people still do.
I've taken use of a colleague of mine’s words when speaking about a decent mate:
“… they exist, I just haven't met one.”

In a crowded restaurant, I dine alone and catch the glances of some good looking men. I sorely notice that Porto woman are more advantaged in relation to good looking men than the Lisbon women.
However, I wonder about how many of men in the restaurant are valid potentials.
Perhaps it's easier and even wiser to turn gay…

However the odds that weigh against or in favour of finding that special person, the way I see it, it's all question of fate and luck rather than of numbers or of scientific explanations.
It's a question of meeting the right kind of person at the right place, at the right time. And that is subjective to every individual regardless of their sexual orientation.
If you've found your partner and you're happy, raise your hands to the sky and consider yourself blessed…
If you haven’t then live your life as best your can on your own and good luck on finding that someone special.