Re: Robynn--French guys II

[Guest guest]

So are you writing a gay Harlequin romance, or what? Actually, that is an insult, your writing is much better than that tripe!! He sounds terrific. French men, I have found, are not so hung up on the American Barbie Doll (or in your case, Ken doll) ideal of beauty. People need not be perfect, in fact, perfection is boring. The little scars and "imperfections" are what make a person unique. Bearing the marks of your life are the things that distinguish you from a million other people. As it is said in the Little Prince (a French book, but of course), the time that you invest in a person, the care that you give to them, is what makes them unique in all of the world. The little things, like the sound of the footsteps that are uniquely yours (or his)...the little vanities...all of that, combined with your attributes, makes you "you". So, do not assume that when he feels a scar, he thinks,

"Yuck!" Instead, he thinks, "This is a part of Francisco, this man that I really like and care for..." For me, in the past, it sometimes is the little imperfection that winds up being my favorite part of my lover...the little scar, the asymmetrical dimple. The love handles. You know? The best thing that French men offer the world, in my opinion, is unconditional acceptance and admiration. Attraction to the whole of you, not just the pretty parts. You need not fit into the Ken doll mode...that is not interesting. You are obviously attractive, from a completely objective perspective...but more than that, to this man, you are attractive on a much deeper level...because he's attracted to YOU...and unlike most American men, he is probably not comparing you to some "ideal" that fits the American (limited) perspective of what is attractive. (You know: tall, blonde, blue eyes, perfectly

chiseled...whatever...or "tall dark and handsome"). I've found that American men articulate what they prefer in women quite easily: blonde, big boobs, long legs, tall, blue eyes, thin. I've asked them, and they come out with that. I've asked French men, and I get, "Brunette, blonde, redhead, shaved...brown, blue or green eyes...tall or short...thin or pleasantly plump...petite or tall...it depends upon the woman, and how she carries herself. Some women are their best with very short, chic hair. Others look better with long, flowing locks. It's like clothes...every woman has their own style, their own unique element that makes them attractive." I'm sure the same applies here. I have a good friend, , who is also a gay French Canadian (adorable as all get out). Not to stereotype people, but many of my gay friends here are, let's face it, as bad as American hetero

men. Very type oriented. You need to have a perfect body that you can bounce a quarter of the booty and stomach. You have to fit the part. , who is gorgeous...isn't like that. He likes hot men, sure...but he's not as fixated on it. Our culture inundates us with images of beauty. Always. Canadians are much more "natural"...they don't like artificial stuff. And French people are much more open to permitting individual beauty and dignity in a person. Welcome to my village of wonderful French men. AIn't it grand? Good luck, Sweets! Robynnmanisodream wrote: Robynn:That would be a fun.Tonight Philippe and I had a wonderful time.As

I was getting ready, I noticed the beginning of a small cold sore on my lower lip. I was thinking, "Why now?" But when Philippe and I met, he wasn't fazed. He said, "Feu sauvage." I said, "What?" He repeated "Feu sauvage." I said, "Wild fire?" Then he reminded me that that's the way you say cold sore in French. He joked, "See, I knew you were dating a lot. You're like on Sex and the City."I feigned indignity, and then he took me in his arms, and said, "I can't kiss you tonight, but I can do other things," and laughed softly in my ear. It was nice to know he wanted to kiss me. I was so glad that he didn't freak out about the cold sore. After the joking, he made me feel at ease.We walked all along the Embarcadero from the Hyatt Regency through Levi Plaza to Fog City Diner. I took him along a route that highlights some of the Embarcadero

area's beauty. From time to time, we would pass a hidden corner or a dark patch, and Philippe would take me in his arms, sometimes kissing my neck, other times running his hands up my back, other times just a full-out attack. He really is like a playful puppy dog.At one point he said, "Just so you know, you have plans for Tuesday." He was so funny the way he said it. It was like an order, but flirtatious and fun.I said, "Oh, do I?"He told me that I'm going over to his place for supper (his Canadian Anglophone vocabulary is so cute). He's making a Quebecois favorite, haché chinois, otherwise known as Shepherd's Pie. We will be joined by his Quebecois friend and 's boyfriend. (Hmm… I'm being introduced to the friends… a good sign.) Then we will all end up at a Holiday concert sung by the Gay Men's Chorus. He asked me what my dietary limitations are

and I explained them to him. I like that he's taking an interest in how I eat.Over dinner, I gave him a card that said, "For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream. (Van Gogh)" Inside I wrote, "Philippe, you are definitely a star. Con cariño, Francisco." Then I handed him a sachet filled with five pewter wish stones: PEACE, FAITH, HOPE, STRENGTH, JOY. "This is what I wish for you," I said."Francisco, you are so full of surprises. Thank you."He arranged the wish stones on the table and admired them. It was clear that he was touched by my gift. The waiter even commented, "I see you've got your own little serenity garden there."The body issues came up again after dinner back at my place. He was seated on the couch with my head resting on his lap. I was looking up at him, his eyes meeting mine. I was so

completely happy. The rugged, manly features of his face softened with tenderness, as he ran his fingers through my hair. I could feel his heart beating. My cheek was pressed up against his stomach, his incredibly taught and ripped abdominal muscles making a pillow that thrilled and comforted me. I wanted to stay there forever. The passion between us grew as the night wore on. His hands began exploring the areas that make me most insecure—my chest and stomach. His touch was gentle yet strong, and my old negative tapes made me uncomfortable, but then, in a moment of release and surrender, I let go. This is who I am, I realized, somehow without even thinking the words.If he wants to get to my heart, he'll have to love and accept the sacred vessel that contains it. But somehow, this passionate, wonderful man was not repulsed by what he felt under his touch. In fact,

judging from his reaction (need I say more?) he was more than OK with the way my body felt.He took my face in his hands, and kissed my cheek. Then he playfully bit my nose and my chin then he kissed my eyelids. "I can't help myself," he groaned than kissed half of my mouth. "I can only kiss half tonight, but I must kiss you…"Feu sauvage, eh? Wild fire and feu sauvage took on a whole new meaning last night. My heart has been opened, and Philippe is gaining access to my deepest affections by getting past my scariest insecurities about my body. I'm not stopping him. He is welcomed to come in to my heart as far as he likes. I sense his spirit connecting to mine. I feel his handprint on my heart.After I dropped him off at his place and returned home, I crawled into bed, my head and heart filled with visions and feelings about Philippe. Could he be the one?

I woke up today muttering something in French, but I can't remember what. All day, in every secret moment, my whole being was whispering a prayer, voicing a desire that has but one word: "Philippe."Francisco>> Double dates, anybody? It sounds like he and are a lot alike. It's so amazing to have such an open person, not playing games, just being frank and ready and willing and able.> > So, we can go out and they can prattle in French (and we can tag along with our less than perfect French.) What do you think?> > He sounds like a keeper.> > Robynn