Why I Don't Write About Women
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Several days ago a young woman came into the shop looking for a particular political book. I recall her ankle boots, brown midi-dress, gray scarf and the color of her lipstick that blended perfectly with her skin color and tone.
I am attracted to women. But I don’t write about my heterosexual component here much. Comparative levels of experience. The five years with Siobhan was the bulk of it.
And my taste in women is pedestrian. With guys my inclinations are uncommon and cultivated. I find most other men who like femme gay males creepy and predatory. In my androgynophillia I identify with no one.
I like actresses from Marion Davies to Jamie Murray. Not that I have casually carnal imaginings about them. Not even Diana Rigg who as Emma Peel has always held the placeholder in my imagination for Ideal Female. Myrna Loy inspires - very oddly - ideas of marriage. Comediennes are often favorites.
I like looking at centerfolds and haute couture models. Serious looking women who buy poetry. Almost any female with a winning smile. And strange women in grocery stores.
So there’s not much to say about it all.
Some women have inspired thoughts of the obvious. I remember seeing a photograph of her (clothed) in Time many years ago.