Grin and Beard It

Think of how much better the world would be if people craved compliments about the beauty of their heart rather than the beauty of their face.

The true paradises are the paradises that we have lost.” ― Marcel Proust

Where I'm from," Tom tilted his head to the side, "they call your kind a hipster or a lumbersexual, with the beard and flannel and such." Without missing beat, Jethro responded, "Ah. See, where I'm from, they call my kind a man.

There’s no reason to be uncomfortable.” “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just feeling weird, and I don’t know how to un-weird myself.” “Well, don’t un-weird yourself on my account. I like you weird.

Dance with me." Blinking, first at his offered palm and then at his features, I asked, "Why?" Not immediately replying, he reached for me, pulled me to my feet, and slid an arm around my waist. I allowed him to hold my body against his, fit our hands together, and sway to the lovely music. Begrudgingly, I admitted to myself he had great rhythm. Someone had taught him to dance. Jehtro dipped his mouth to my ear, his beard tickling my neck as he finally whispered an answer to my question, "Because you want me to hold you, but you don't know how to ask.

You are so adorable. I just want to take you home and put you in my pocket.” I’d prefer her pants, but I guess I’d settle for her pocket

Allow me to take a moment to express my appreciation for Cletus Winston and his entrances.

What are we doing?” I asked, feeling restless. “Taking comfort.” That made me smile, so I peered up at him. “You’re taking comfort in me?” “Yes.” My smile grew and I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the moment. Gradually, I heard a symphony of sounds rise around us. Wind played through the grass, rustled the small but plentiful leaves of a nearby lonely oak. Crickets and other insects chirped and hummed. I felt the beat of Jethro’s heart in his fingertips and where I gripped his wrists. My heart slowed until it matched the rhythm of his. My restlessness eased until it faded away, eclipsed by the stillness, the comfort of being close, yet barely touching. And I took comfort in him.

I'm after a woman who likes sex but doesn't put the lust part above the intelligence part. She could have a hundred partners for all I care, just as long as they've been vetted for psychopathic tendencies. I have four rules. Number one: don't invite a person into your body if you wouldn't invite her into your kitchen. Number two: the act needs to take place in a clean environment. Number three: precautions need to be taken to protect from disease and pregnancy. And Number four: don't ration the passion, i.e. put you best fuck forward.

DEDICATION To the very capable engineers responsible for Microsoft Windows 10. Bless your hearts. Bless. Your. Hearts.

Out of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most.” ― Mark Twain ~Jethro~

Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.” ― Winston S. Churchill

Jethro closed his eyes, a small grin curving his mouth, and whispered like it was a secret, "Thank you for being lost." I smiled and whispered in return, "Thank you for finding me.

How’s the coffee?” “She hasn’t had any yet,” Cletus answered for me, then added, “but she wants you to ask her on a date tonight, no place public. Somewhere private, for discussing things.” Jethro’s eyes widened, and he glared at his brother’s reflection in the rearview mirror, snapping, “Cletus.” “Don’t clutch your pearls at me, big brother. Look at her, for hootenanny’s sake. She’s got the hots for your ugly face, Lord help her. And I know you’ve been thinking about her, judging by how long you took in the bathroom this morning.” I clamped a hand over my mouth just as shocked laughter burst from my lips. “Dammit, Cletus,” Jethro growled, turning the ignition and shooting his brother an incendiary look. “You are the worst. Just, don’t speak. Ever. Don’t speak ever again.” Jethro’s gaze darted to me then away as he sighed, looking remorseful. “I’m so sorry.” I placed my hand on Jethro’s thigh—FYI he had a really nice thigh—to ease his mind and because I wanted to touch him. “No, no. Please don’t apologize. He’s right and he’s wrong. I do have the hots for your face, but it isn’t at all ugly.” At this Cletus snorted and grumbled, “Well, it ain’t pretty.” Jethro pressed his lips together and I could see the hint of a smile there amidst his frustration. “Glad you have the hots for my face.” “Just ask her out already,” Cletus demanded. “She ain’t doing anything tonight. You two will go out tonight.

So she’s like Redbull? She gives you wings?” He lifted a teasing eyebrow. I shook my head. “More like she’s the sun, and she makes every minute better than the last

I suppose it’s part of why we seek out a partner. Why we’re driven to build a new family, pursue new friendships. There’s freedom in being a blank canvas to another person and having some control over what is painted on that canvas.

If you don’t fight for what you love, then you have nothing worth losing.” ***

You and your saying of sweet things, it does something to me. You do something to me." Jethro's mouth hitched to the side with a pleased smile. "Happy to hear it. Because when I'm with you, I feel like I'm both flying and falling.

I decided the map was clearly written by masochistic-doodling ancient Egyptians because everything was hieroglyphics and unreadable doodads. I cursed the map. “BY MOTHRA’S NIPPLES! I FUCKING HATE THIS MAP!” Irrational anger bubbled to the surface and all I could think about was murdering the map. I would show the map who was boss. I was boss. Not some evil, wrong map from hell. I had no choice but to hit the map against the steering wheel several times, grunting and releasing a string of curses that would have made my sailor father proud. And maybe blush. Then I opened my driver’s side door, still grunting and raging, and slammed the map against the car, threw it on the ground, stomped on it, kicked it, and just generally assaulted it in every way I could think of. I’m a little embarrassed to admit, in my mindlessness I was also taunting the map, questioning its virility, flipping it the bird, and cursing now in Spanish as well as English. It was the most cardio I’d done in over twelve months. Stupid map, making me do cardio. I’ll kill you!

Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.” ― L.M. Montgomery, The Story Girl   ~Jethro~

I studied the smile, couldn’t decide if it looked sincere or rehearsed. And that thought troubled me. I was good at reading people and their intentions, but only if I wasn’t too invested. Once invested, I couldn’t separate what I wished to be true from what was actually true.

You’re a movie star. A celebrity with millions of fans.” “And you’re a wildlife ranger who traps giant, dangerous black bears for a living and acts like it’s no big deal. Tell me that doesn’t sound like a heaping helping of crazy, with bizarre gravy, and a slice of mashed loco for Cocoa Puffs.

Without thinking, I asked, "Are you afraid of temptation?" He shook his head. "God, no. Just being with you, just seeing you. Fuck." He mostly swallowed the expletive, his hips rolling in a way that made me think the movement was instinctual, then added on a rush, "You breathing tempts me.

She was a damn good kisser, maybe the best I'd ever had the immense pleasure of kissing. It helped that her lips were like pillows and she tasted sweet. Not like strawberries or peaches. Sunshine and sweet—her own brand of it. Plus there was desperation in the kiss, an understated but raw passion I couldn't recall ever experiencing before. Or maybe that had been me. Maybe I'd been the passionate, desperate one. No matter. Either way, she'd stolen my breath, robbed me of thought and sense. She was a master thief, and I loved her for it.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” ― Kahlil Gibran ~Jethro~

People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they’re not on your road doesn’t mean they’ve gotten lost.” ​— ​Dalai Lama XIV

Aging is not 'lost youth' but a new stage of opportunity and strength.” ― Betty Friedan

Nothing in the world was more alluring than a capable man.

Indiscriminate sex is like indiscriminate pie eating. I might enjoy the pie, but then I find out it was baked in a dirty kitchen, drooled and sneezed on by nut jobs, baked by a nut job who wants me to eat her dirty pie every day. Next thing you know I have a stalker, dysentery, and herpes just from one ignorant bite of pie. I keep my kitchen clean and discriminate and so should my partner. Plus, I don’t want someone telling me Pop-Tarts are pie. Pop-Tarts aren’t pie. I can tell the difference.