Boo

       Boo.
       That was my pet name for her. I can’t tell you why I called her that. Not  without revealing her real name. But I can tell you, it wasn’t because she was scary looking. Au contraire. Stunningly Beautiful. Incredibly Sexy. And I told her so. All the time.
       I loved every square inch of her. Head to toe. Literally. When I kissed her, anywhere, it was like wrapping my mouth around a sweet, delicious, soft piece of juicy girl fruit. Succulent and yummy. I just wanted to eat her up.  
       Beautiful inside and out, I saw her, felt her, and experienced her, as a complete being. I wasn’t just in love with a face. I wasn’t just in love with a body. I was in love with a person.  
       The word “partnership”, a word I had never thought much about before, took on true meaning when I thought of being with her long term. “Sharing” took on new depth, too. For the first time in my life, I wanted to share it all. Everything I had. Everything I was. With her. A big step for this bachelor of almost fifty years.
       She inspired the artist/lover in me like no woman ever had. I used to create little works of art about her, for her; short movies, songs, love letters, photos, pictures with words, computer comic book pages, that sort of thing. Some of it I shared not only with her, but with the world. I wanted the planet to know how I felt about her. Why? Well I found it incredibly romantic, first of all. Like a musician who writes a song about the love of his life and releases it for all to hear. Like a painter who paints a portrait of his beloved and hangs it in an art gallery for the world to see. What I did was my way of doing something like that. Eventually, I would have done something exactly like that.
       And, there is something stirring and timelessly adoring about expressing such love for someone to the entire world. Maybe it makes it more real. There is power and energy in such grand expression. It’s decisive and clear. I’ve done it here many times, on this very blog, with other people I love dearly; my twin brother, my niece, close friends of mine. Sharing deep and intense love on such a big scale is a declaration. There’s no turning back. It's a leap of faith, a courageous jump off of the Love Cliff. Kind of like marriage.
       I was proud to be so in love with her. I was proud of her. Those little art projects to her were like mini monuments. And those mini monuments were precursors of bigger monuments to come. I wasn’t sure exactly what those monuments would be, or how I would create them, but I knew I would. Maybe I would have built a house for us and named it after her, complete with a sign on the entrance gate, or over the front door. Maybe I would have bought us a boat, put a custom paint job to it, and named it after her. Better yet, maybe I would have created something that nobody had ever done before. Knowing me, the chance of that happening was pretty good.
       Compliments flew out of my mouth like doves at a peace festival. It felt good to tell her how much I loved the way she looked, or smelled, or felt, or tasted, or just was. And they were all sincere. It's not in me to compliment somebody falsely. Especially her. To notice her, to love what I noticed, and let her know that, was important to me. I wanted her to know what I knew. I wanted her to know I was paying attention. With words and with actions. Why keep that a secret?    
         At moments, it hurts to write about all this. But writing through pain is part of writing. Akin, methinks, to a professional linebacker playing through pain. It’s part of the package. And the best learn to not only do it, but do it well. So I’m becoming a better Emotional Linebacker. I’m becoming a better writer, when I write, and write well, through pain. I’ll take that.
       When I was with Boo, I really didn’t believe it was possible to over express the love I felt for her. There was so much in my heart that I sometimes didn’t know what to do with it. Like the uncontainable excitement of a kid on Christmas morning.
       Many times, when I looked at her, an energy from deep inside me would fire up, like the burning glow from a powerful furnace. It would radiate outward, and completely fill my body. I felt it everywhere. I would clench my fists, and my arms would start shaking, literally. The energy had to be released. I would bite my fist, in that stereotypical Italian manner, and make some sort of low guttural sound; in between a growl and a rebel yell. That action was a way of transferring the energy into something physical. But it wasn’t enough. It was merely a warm up. Suddenly, I would passionately grab her, bite her gently yet firmly somewhere on her hot little body, and then give her a big hug and a kiss. Sometimes I got carried away and bit just a little too hard. As I said, the fire burned hot.  
       The whole sequence, from looking at her to the bite, hug, and kiss, would last no more than several seconds. It was like an explosion. An explosion of passionate affection. An explosion of absolute adoration. An explosion of uncontrollable desire. An explosion of crazy love. “Exposion de l’amour fou”.  
       Over the top? Too much?.....Is there a “top” to that sort of thing? I never saw one. Never felt one. Never even thought that way. I just knew how I felt. And I wanted to share that with her. I wanted to express that to her. Powerfully. Creatively. Lovingly. Passionately. Deeply. And often.
       If that’s wrong, what the fuck does right look like?


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