I’ve come to think that just about anyone loves permission to talk about sex.
Once you you peel away the veils that like getting lifted, I notice it’s the same everywhere I go. And I love hunting Beauty wherever it lands; coaxing it to peek through the shyness, enchanting it to smile, wonder or sing just a little bit more than it should. I like taking down the weight of walls nobody likes holding up.
It’s how I hunted Marianne, a Jew from Uzbekistan sitting next to me on the plane from JFK To Phoenix. Even before I notice all the yamakas and delicious scent of food passing across the aisles, she catches my eye by the way she covers
her hair and keeps tugging her skirt to cover her legs. But it’s how she inadvertently keeps brushing back her two year old’s soft brown curls that really has me smitten.
A lot of kids get cranky at take off, but Samuel stares wide-eyed out the window and giggles the whole way up. He seems blessed with an unusual dose of gentle intelligence.
It was Marianne who convinces me that given the time, a curious mood and the right questions, just about anyone will tell you anything . We start with casual banter about the Jewish holidays and then her nose flares slightly when I
tell her what I do. In her world of conservative Jews, no one’s written a book about sex. So she’s clearly delighted to me a few tell me things about her husband, all the while glancing at the floor to guard affections.