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Twenty years from now he did not want him to be made into a hybrid mess from a lifetime of painful surgeries... hormonal confusion...mutilations. But had he not mutilated four months earlier? It was quite flattering and Sang Huin finally returned the calls. He was curious. At that time he wanted a girlfriend.
Yes, he thought, he had done a horrible thing by encouraging his girlfriend to abort their child. It was wrong to have robbed a being of life and any connections the fetus might have had beyond its own cell divisions.
Louis, at his mother's quasi-request, which would allow him to see her once again and to escape the imbroglio that he currently found himself in with a girlfriend, a boyfriend, and bafflement what to do with any of it.
The museum was more of an anti-imperialist manifesto than a communist one and partitioned walls made court rooms for evidence and indictment. Being a Thai-American with a girlfriend who had been French, his was a triple indictment at least so he postulated to himself humorously. He could have gone to the States, the land of his birth. Not knowing anyone there would not have deterred him.
But then for the non-pornographic version she made a young man with a girlfriend bound hand-in-hand and a second hand reaching out to his grandmother who stands near the birthday cake.
"You mean the one who lists his past life credentials dates and all in full-page ads? The one who *specializes* in women?" "Uh, yeah." "He isn't bringing women to enlightenment, Mark. He's bringing them to bed." "Come on," I countered, trying not to admit to her or to myself what he had been doing for years. "So he has a girlfriend. What's wrong with a spiritual teacher having a girlfriend?"
Nor did I know that he had once asked a girlfriend to slip out the window when another appeared at the door. Nor that he had recently been in deep trouble with Chinmoy. Nor that during the height of the controversy, he had admitted to Tom that he might leave the Centre before Chinmoy kicked him out. "What would you do if you left?" Tom had asked him.
Otto and his girlfriend Brissa were driving merrily down the middle of the road one rainy night on their way to a party when they approached a little old lady trying vainly to change a flat tire. "Gee, that's too bad," said Brissa. "Yeah," agreed Otto. "Maybe we should help her," added Brissa. "We? You mean me. I'm not going to get wet. Besides, what good would it do me to help her?
"He has a gallery, did he tell you?" "Yes. He said to come by any time." "I bet he did," Joe teased. She pulled a light cotton sweater from her bag and put it on with lithe movements. "It's cooling off," she said. "Good pictures, huh?" "I liked them," Rhiannon said, "but I don't know anything about photography. Winifred is very nice." "Mo that's what I call her. She is." "Is she your girlfriend?"
She said this while knowing that finding a perfect match for herself might be impossible and that in her present mood any man was better than none. Now with her youth waning she knew that sexual liaisons with beautiful forms would become more and more like hunting for mushrooms in an area with a worsening annual rainfall. "I don't know if you have a new girlfriend now but " "I don't have one."
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