I remember a man who took off both his shirt and belt just to give me a massage. Straddling me in candle light, he started at the feet. He went right for the treasure chest, the secret entrance, open says me if the the grip is right: attentive and gentle, receptive and firm - yes, the feel is right. He is in.

I remember how he used his mouth. Around my toes exhaling warm words like, "so strong", "look how beautiful", or my favorite of all, just the whisper, "yes."

Yes, yes, I remember a man who took care of me like a lover. Praise the men who make sure we feel safe and precious and cared for and loved.

When women feel safe, we open up.
When women feel precious, we are generous with beauty.
When women feel cared for, we dance and we sing and we laugh and we shine we make it all make sense finally and suddenly without answering even one of those silly mortal questions. Just batting long eye lashes in a world that reflects us. Just lying on a bed, underneath this wise man. A man who, too, likes living in an open, generous, beautiful world full of women who feel cared for. I can tell by the way he doesn't stop at my feet.

I remember becoming a woman right there in his very hands. Those giving, gentle, giant hands.

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