"Louises"

Dear Jo:

Hi, darling. I received your most welcome letter; but, honey, parts of it didn't sound like you! So you met (my "old flame," as you put it,) Louise! You know perfectly well that Louise wasn't a "flame," she was one of my "emotional wildhorses!" The frantic feeling tore around inside of me for a while, but it wasn't real to begin with, and so, it didn't even have the stamina to die a glorious death. It just "wasn't." One day I looked at Louise, and she seemed to be pathetically ordinary and not at all the beauty I had imagined her to be. Somehow, she wasn't even Louise anymore . not my Louise; because my "Louise" was created inside my vivid imagination. She never did the things human beings do endlessly. She was ethereal. She was a dream that I had managed to weave about an unsuspecting mortal. These emotional outbursts are not restricted to any certain age group; so simply because a person has reached a comfortable eighty, that doesn't assure his safety. Although the attacks may occur less frequently as time goes by, once in a while, even the most mature may meet her "Louise"! And then, the agony begins! "Louise" is usually somebody in an office; or she may ride the 8:40 every morning; or she may live next door. And usually, she is completely oblivious to us, living her own very, very heterosexual life. "Louise" may never have heard about homosexuality; or worse, if she recognizes it, she immediately terms us as "queer"; or even worse, she may become actually frightened of our devoted, but blank, stares. People in our way of life have lost jobs, missed trains, and even become alienated from home and family, because of these seemingly uncontrollable emotional storms. And, the sad part about it is, that the feeling involved, as beautiful as it may seem to be, is completely false. It just isn't real. It's a phoney; an outlet; a pent-up urge, trying to pass itself off as real feeling. Perhaps only the very young consider themselves "in love" at this time, but even we who are old enough to know better, moon a little, and think that there must be something to it, or "I wouldn't feel like this!" No, baby no, granny-there is nothing to it! It just "ain't so." You're kidding yourself. Your emotional wild-horses are tearing off in the general direction of nowhere, and dragging you with them. Let go of the reins. Free yourself. Nobody wants to be near a phoney; why should you? There you are, mooning over your

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