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Tenderness in Men It's like plum custard at the heart of a steel girder, cool malted milk in a hot bowling ball. It's glimpsed sometimes when a man pats a puppy. If his wife moves softly, it may flutter like a hermit thrush into the bedroom, and pipe its pure, warbling tune. Comment, though, and it's a moray jerking back into its cave. My dad taught me to hide tenderness like my "tallywhacker" — not to want or accept it from other men. All I can do for a friend in agony is turn my eyes and, pretending to clap him on the back, brace up his carapace with mine. So, when you lean across the table and extend your hand, your brown eyes wanting only good for me, it's no wonder my own eyes glow and swell too big for their sockets as, in my brain, dry gulleys start to flow. Charles Webb janet paterson aka calendar control supervisor 51/10 - sinemet/selegiline/prozac - [log in to unmask] quotations: http://newww.com/cgi-bin/do_cal?c:newvoice pwp event calendar: http://newww.com/cgi-bin/do_cal?c:pwpc