perils with writing and whatnot
They had a spectacular evening. The food was superb at the country inn fifteen miles out of the city. He was dressed right for the rendezvous; he was sure of it. He had worn a suit with a crisp white shirt and purposely left the tie off. She was stunning in the crimson satin dress. The white blazer, also satin, that she wore over it, didn’t have a collar, which allowed one’s eyes to drift beyond it to gaze at the red splendor of fabric underneath. Their conversation was light and easy, making both feel that they had successfully reclaimed their loving relationship.
The ride back to her apartment was one of expectations and hopes running through their minds, being twisted and tangled along the way. Standing at her doorstep, his longings pulled and tugged at him. Somehow she could feel herself pulling back with no ready answer for why she felt it.
A few years before they had a serious relationship. Although they weren’t thinking of marriage, they were scouting for a larger apartment they could share. It was that very activity that pushed them apart. Any first-year psychology text-book would tell you that there were underlying problems before then. Yet, neither one could see them. Or was it that they didn’t want to acknowledge them, so they didn’t?
She put her key in the lock to open the door, avoiding his eyes to escape any guilt. He glanced at her briefly, then looked down at the cement in front of him. The disappointment was engulfing him like a thick fog. He dragged his feet to his car and slowly drove down the street.
Sleep seemed to be an impossibility that night. He could lay still enough, but the evening kept on replaying in his head. He felt so certain that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, yet, after just a few years, her desires must have changed. It couldn’t be that she , as a whole, had changed. She dressed the same, talked about the same subjects with the same undying passion, and generally seemed to be headed in the same direction she was pointed to back then.
He finally pulled himself out of bed, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and sat down to write her a letter. As he wrote he drank. He retrieved another can from the refrigerator. He kept on writing. Finally he finished the letter in which he professed his undying love for her. Then he threw it away.
Realization can hit a person at the oddest times. He finally saw that it was him who had changed.
He crawled back into bed and slept.
Question: What is your honest opinion of how I portray a character of the male gender? Being female, I wonder if I show males realistically in my writing.
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James Edgar Skye
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