Chapter One: It All Begins with a...
She was a good-looking woman. At thirty, she had her stuff together: She had a good job at Hughes Aircraft and a new Volkswagen Rabbit. She was buying the Ladera Heights town house she lived in. She could have taught a naive kid like me, all of twenty-four at the time, a thing or two about life. And
she could cook.
But as I left her place late that night for the second time in a week, clothes rumpled and passions unrequited, there was something in an otherwise beautiful picture that I simply could not ignore: The girl could not kiss.
The two of us wrestled amorously on her couch for...
When I told a friend I was writing a book about romance where it concerns me, he replied with an undertone of sarcasm, "Oh, I see -- it's going to be a book of short
stories." Another friend coyly remarked that, from any other writer, such a book would qualify as "a labor of love,
but..." Her voice trailed off as she contemplated whether coming from me this book would actually have anything to do with love.
These heartwarming exhibitions of faith emanate from friends. When I said there would be thirty-three essays, people got wide-eyed and took a step back, as if they might catch something from a man who...