Comfort Zone

When others stand too close to me, and box me in, invade my space, I've always thought one must be free of pests that like to take one's place and spread their wings like pesky flies. So when I stop to shoot the breeze, exaggerate, tell little lies, some of these folks will try to seize an opportunity of sorts to hover close like an oppression. And now and then someone resorts to paw me, skipping all discretion.... I hate it mostly when it's hot or an a steamy summer day, the best deodorants cannot make armpit odour go away. Throughout the years thus I have learned yo keep as friends the ones who think the same as I, they will have earned a lengthy chat, and not a blink or hasty hold-your-breath retreat. I need a distance that conveys, in shops or on a busy street, to make distinction between gays and those who'd reach into your purse, which, as you know, requires eyes that do record as it occurs, allowing you to realise.... And when I met her at the Park, I was so smitten with her features, that, as we walked into the dark she leaned on me! One of those creatures. So many nights we braved the frigid and icy banks of Father Rhine, came home, not feeling any digits, unable to uncork the wine. And then, one early day in Spring, when all the snow will meet its maker, Woodpeckers peck and Robins sing and Swallows nest down at the Baker, there was an overwhelming feeling, when our clock had struck the hour, as we laid back, stared at the ceiling, still dripping wet from one shared shower, we fell asleep with happy faces. The bed had so much room to spare, there were no empty, unused spaces between our bodies, little air would have been able to diffuse. And here I was, one craving distance from other humans, free to choose a girl who understands resistance to close encounters of the skin. I loved the closeness of her heat, it was confusing to have been converted in that silken sheet. We woke at times throughout those nights and I confess that now and then we could not even tell when lights were on (you know us frightened men) , which lip was hers and which be mine. We suffered optical sensations when touching skin stained by red wine, there often was no confirmation of who the owner was and why. Our bodies were so glued together, there was the one thing that a guy seems to wear like a trophy feather, but even that would sometimes dive into some underground resort. The two of us, so much alive, were tied together by a cord that took two beings, at each end then joined the bits to let them kiss. And that is when the dearest friend will have to know what closeness is. Addendum Is it, the reader may inquire, a matter of some pheromones? It is a question I admire. but do not like its undertones.