"Pick up the pen, my girl. Write a word, only one will do... the rest will follow through." A slight lisp in her talk, she raised a grey eyebrow expectantly, not to signal surprise, just desire for another ball-point creation or digital composition - Angels still think in 20th century technolgy.

So I did and this is what I wrote...

You trace your hand along my shoulder, and your fingertip stops at a freckle, "The beauty of womanhood is not in their perfection, but in their simple truths. "

I smile at your remark as it's best to humor you and I do this with love. "Do you think I'd have made a good man?" I circle my fingers through a grey twist of chest hair, which slips through my fingers as it's slick with sweat. I pull it gently and you wince.

"When you do that - yes!" You pull at my hand and I laugh - giggling would only demean our relationship to pubescent infatuation. Howevever, you do think of me the younger woman which I find funny as I'm ageless.

You raise up your knee and I noticed the tan line at your thigh.

"I'm serious." I lay my head upon your chest and smell the maleness of you. You put your hand into my hair and rub the back of my neck. I roll my head into your hand - I feel like a cat.

You sigh... a sigh of resignation, I suppose, but you humor me. "You're not really male or female - you're just you, and really you'd be good at anybody you'd desire to be."

".... mmmm... I think I'd like to be an Angel, then I could ask other people to write..."