Her last name had cock in it. But somehow her name escaped the taunts of highschool children. It was as though she was protected with a fine layer of repellent that nothing evil could penetrate. Everyone loved her. I was no exception.

She taught a bunch of subjects in our tiny little school (English, Voice, Psychology) and had gone to a college that only the finest teachers had attended. It was a well-known Minnesota college - Lutheran and liberal arts. My father had attended that same college - and his siblings - and virtually everyone in the little town of less than 1000 people. The fact that she had gone there just made the college (not her) that much more revered. At least in my 13-year-old mind.

I sought to be involved in everything she was involved in and that included an after school activity I didn’t even know if I was good at. I ended up winning two state titles. My name and picture were in the little town’s paper - and that was a big deal. I use to save all the clippings but have since lost track of them.

She had the neatest writing I have ever seen. When she wrote on the whiteboard it was as though she were drawing flowers and stems and leaves instead of words like Freud and Cognitive and Self Actualization. I would sit in her room during lunch period while the other children consumed heavy amounts of cheese the consistency of paste and pasta the texture of rubber. She would grade papers and I would pretend to read. I would look up from my desk and just stare at her frosted blonde hair and her blue blue eyes and love her. I simply worshiped the ground she walked on.

She was my very first friend. My best friend. And when I later moved, she wrote long letters to me in her flower cursive. I would read the letters over and over and over again and I would rub my fingers over the part that said she loved me as though the words themselves were made out of silk.

It had been awhile since I had had friends as important as she was. Women friends. I sometimes catch glimpses in friendships I’ve developed with men, but they always seem so much more complicated than the one I had with my English teacher. Even though I was in love with her, you see, I never thought of actually fucking her. It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to her. It was just that our relationship was so much deeper than a physical relationship. I wanted to crawl up inside of her and just stay there forever - I didn’t want to actually kiss her or have some physical relationship with her or anything. I wanted to be near her. And I envied her children because they got to be tucked into bed each night by her - and kissed awake by her in the morning. I would often wonder if they knew how lucky they were.

I quit the gym the other day. I just couldn’t take it anymore and it was clear to me that they just had other ideas about me - and how to run the place that didn’t go along with what I thought. It’s a rather long, complicated story that right about now (at 3:14AM in the morning) doesn’t seem to matter that much. But I went back to the gym this afternoon so that they could kiss my little ass. Afterwards I worked out a bit - and talked to the ladies there, reassuring them that I would know if they were working out and to not use my leaving as an excuse to get all out of shape and weak again. Little ladies just grabbed me and held onto me and squeezed my cheeks and told me how wonderful I was. Other women slipped me their business cards and told me to call them if I needed anything. Other women called me and asked me how I was and if they (the management) had mistreated me. Still others called me up and invited me to bar-be-ques that would be held in my honor. I received letters and note cards and little gift certificates from women who just wanted to tell me how lovely I was and how much I had helped them while I was there. They urged me to keep in touch with them and to let them know if I was going to be in the area and we “could do lunch” and just “catch up.”

So I have this fascination with girls. And women. I like looking at them - but they have to be a certain type. I don’t think anything turns me on more than self confidence, tenderness and . . . brilliance. I don’t entertain fantasies of fucking women. I know that people find that hard to believe - or I should say - I know that men find that hard to believe - but there it is. I don’t. I don’t get off on watching women fuck each other, either. I’ll watch - but I can’t ever sit there and masturbate - I just watch like I watch Hell’s Kitchen. It’s entertaining and a bit mystifying, really. But I could totally have a relationship with a girl. I would even sleep with a girl IF there was some sort of spiritual bond or something. It wouldn’t be about sex - but more like wanting to climb inside of her soul - and realizing that maybe if I placed my tongue on the most intimate of her parts I just might get there quicker.

I don’t know what made me write this entry. Well, maybe it is because I know that by not working at the gym and working with the women I was working with I’m giving up quite a bit. There was a sort of . . . community that was so drama free it was scary. We had stuff that went on due to management stuff and an occasional tiff or whatever - but overall - we would just bond together. Talk about our lives - children - school - boyfriends - husbands - recipes -politics - the latest movie and the last book we read. I’m going to miss that tremendously. And even though I plan on working out there and joining another gym with a few other women - it still just feels slightly different and I’m a bit scared that I’ll lose that part of me that felt confident and competent and able to stand tall among other women. I’m afraid I’ll start thinking like so many other women I see - who doubt that that type of honest, true, and just really tender relationship can exist.