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"Minnesota"


Having been gifted a book called "The Spinster Book" written in 1901, it prompted (or provoked) me to write. Perhaps a more "modern" version of what's possible for being an independent, single, and self aware woman...and what it's been like for me.

In order to be happy, a woman needs only a good digestion, a satisfactory complexion, and a lover.  The first requirement being met, the second is not difficult to obtain, and the third follows as a matter of course. - The Spinster Book, Chapter 2, Concerning Women

~

I’ve only had one one-night stand in my life.  If I was doing stand-up,  I would hear the room rumbling, “say what?”  Let me qualify.  A one night stand (to me) is one night with someone who you don’t know, never met before, and will never see again.  Oh and it’s sex.  Silence or applause?  Wow, I sound so proud.  (Sorry Dad.)  I’d kissed tons of guys that I’d met along my journeys - spring breaks, at night clubs, in bars, etc...(sorry Dad), but never did the “deed.”

I was at another one of the consciousness seminars I’d been attending over the course of 10 years.  This one I traveled to, it was in Florida at an enormous resort hotel.  Having my own business to manage, I often rejected traveling for classes, Who would mind my business while I was gone?  It appeared like a question, but was usually my conclusion.  Then I began asking, What else can I create and generate while I’m traveling?  These types of questions opened up a whole new world for me.  Attendees in the seminars were actually approaching me to see and buy my jewelry.  It was a win-win.  Do a little business, and create a bunch of consciousness.  It worked for me.

These seminars, or I prefer classes (from here on in) covered a slew of topics.  Relationships, career, money, sex, abuse, how-to-get-out-of-your-own-shit (ie. obliterate the limitations you bought from others or put on yourself) and have fun.  For me, I narrowed it down: how to create the life I only daydreamed was possible.  There was a caveat:  YOU had to be willing to choose it.  No one can do the work for you.  It’s right there at your fingertips.  If you’re willing to change your point of view, and leave the old luggage behind, well, the future was loaded with infinite possibilities.

One of the perks of these classes can be perceiving a sense extreme happiness.  This was the case that night.  It was during the winter months (February?) -- hard for a (now) Californian to decipher because we don’t get snow -- but many of the guests at this resort were visiting from the frigid air and weather conditions of their various East Coast locations.  

After a day of class, many of the attendees would retreat to the bar for dinner and drinks and playful shenanigans.  One drink turned into three and before I knew it I skipped up to the bar for another glass of champagne.  

A tall, blond, lanky, effortlessly hot man/guy/dude was leaning against the bar.  I realized I was skipping because when I landed at the bar I felt my body halt, and when I looked to the left, he was smiling.  I perceived it, but it was 24 hours later that I could put it into words -- there was a space that opened up, as if no one else were there, and I saw this guy in brighter light.  Encapsulated, but not contractive.  Even in this dim bar.  I paid no attention at the time, or did I?  

“You have a great smile,” I flirted.  I was feeling ballsy.  Liquid courage?  High on life?  Or just being me?

“You do too.” he smiled again.  Oh my gosh, he was something.

We did the boy-meets-girl thing, Hi - I’m Jennifer - where you from? (Boy was I bold!) And turns out he was one of those snowbirds escaping the freezing temps of his Minnesota roots.  

Tick tock, time either flew or stood still.  Who cared?  I was going with it.  For all the years of being a self professed goody two shoes and conservative, I was going to throw caution to the wind and enjoy the moment.  The conversation sparked, and sparkled. “I’m 42, I know I’m older than you.” 

A woman never tells her age.  I smiled.  No response.  I was older than he, shhhh.  Thanks to good genes, facials, and not buying into aging!

He led me outside with him to share a cigarette (an alcohol induced delight for me) in the Florida humidity.  The energy was like - pop! pop! pop!  Just smile, I kept inviting, his teeth, his mouth, I was so entranced.  

Lucky for me, and I mean lucky, I had good friends that kept watch and checked in to make sure I was okay and not being absconded by this stranger in a ripped tee and flip flops. 

Testosterone and pheromones and heat and chemistry were the magnetic charge of the first kiss.  He leaned in, and I leaned in.  I couldn’t help but giggle inside at the cheesiness of the choice to make out in public.  Well it wasn’t in front of anyone, until a waitress came out to admonish, “No glassware out by the pool.”  Kill joy!

For kicks, let’s say it was one AM.  The bar crowd was thinning, and a few of my friends/classmates were still hanging out.  We’d gone back inside.  The air conditioning was well greeted by me, or rather my hair.  An internal dialogue, or entity came forth, What if I’m not pretty enough?  Shut up!  Who did that thought belong to?  And how many times had I shied away from fun and flirtatious adventures because of this voice? It was time to do away with that!

“Minnesota” as I referred to him (in person) was staying at the hotel.  He’d mentioned (mid-kiss) that he was traveling with a friend and his girlfriend, and they were in the penthouse suite.  The room was fabulous, blah blah.  Translation: you wanna come up and see my view?  Ahem.  I wasn’t born yesterday.  I pushed it aside on the first asking, then he asked again and again, and I said, “Give me a minute.”  I grabbed my friend (and roommate from the class) Christine, and we did the thing most chicks do: we went to the bathroom.  There I weighed my options.  (Oh what the walls of a ladies room have heard!)

“I’ll say no.”  “I can’t.”  “I’m not that kind of girl.” “What if I want to leave?” “Well maybe I’ll just go up for a minute.”

As we walked back to the bar, I went back to my questions.  Questions seemed to work for me.  From there I could choose what was “light” or “heavy” and what would work for me.  In the 10 years of these consciousness classes, we learned about to how trust our awareness, check in with the energy and before choosing to have sex, to ASK these 3 questions.  I silently asked myself:

-Will this be easy?  Um duh.

-Will this be fun?  My body said, yes.

-Will I learn something?  It got even lighter.

And a new question I’d added:

-Will I be happy in the morning?  Yup!

I told Minnesota I’d meet him up at his room.  I was giddy.  I swear he didn’t think I go for it.  He knew I wasn’t “that kind of girl.”  But heck, good on him for putting it out there.

When the elevator opened I took one step off and there he was waiting for me.  It was so kind.  It was different than I’d imagined.  He escorted me in, and as promised, the view from his suite was spectacular.  The suite was more like a two bedroom apartment.  Very spacious.

He guided me into his quarters, which truly were like quarters -- unlike any hotel room I’d ever seen.  And we kissed and then he looked at me.  Into me.  There was an unexpected comfort in that.  He was a complete stranger, aside from the 2 or so hours of drinking and chatting.  Getting undressed was odd and exciting.  The guy I’d been dating (yikes) had become so familiar, that I’d forgotten what it was like to get naked in front of a new body.

Mid romp, I giggled.

“Why are you laughing?” he looked concerned. 

“Because I’m having fun.”  I smiled.

I think he was shocked.  Isn’t it amazing how serious we make sex out to be? What if it could be different?  Fun?  Playful?  What else could be is possible?  

Who is this girl?  I could perceive his Universe.  I was just becoming aware that I could do such a thing.  I was different.  I didn’t choose from force, I chose from question and possibility and contribution.  I knew we both received something unique that night --

We texted a few times after that evening.  He wrote something like, “I want to see you.  I’m either coming there or you’re coming here.”

The energy sunk, “Wow, you’re so kind.” was all I could write. And I meant it.  I was so grateful for the experience, and the creation. Apparently that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.  And I never heard from him again.  

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