Jerry Chasen's Blog

Softly, he said to me, “I
want to be your hero.”  Part
instinct seemed my quick reply:
“I want to be your sweetheart.”

I was somewhat startled by
this goal of role, this odd choice
I heard my mouth utter.  I
have no doubt that my soul’s voice

was speaking,  saying what’s so
for me, my truth.  But just what
does this “sweetheart” mean?  I know
that empty headed cannot

be what I aspire to.
Or a cheerleader to his
football hero–I can’t do
that; I’m not a bouncy miss

with big pompoms, and football’s
not the game he plays.  So then,
if to me he “sweetheart” calls,
what resonates deep within?

That no doubt when I walk in
a room, his eyes see little
else.  To know when I begin
to pleasure him a bit, he’ll

not be able to resist.
To hear the “we” in every
plan he makes, to hear him hiss
his pleasure, baying “Jerry”

saying my name.  All the while
without pride or other thought
but to touch him, with no guile
or false touch, my passion caught

and held in his knowing hand,
in wonder and elation;
he plays me fully, a stand-
ard theme and variation.

Am I somehow less because
I give him myself this way?
That without a thought or pause
in dark night or bright mid day,

til moment still with release.
And then want him to want me
so much at times that no peace
is possible.  Do I see

myself as not man enough
because this hunger for him
thru me and in me, is stuff
I’ve been taught is woman’s whim

or wish?  I’m certain I’m not
a girly man, neither some
passive wastrel.  No– white hot
the fire, a strong man’s fire, dumb

to all but man’s need, that burns
on in me for him.  Sweetheart,
then, to me sums up the yearn
that in the whole is my part

and the very base and real
experience of his love
professed.  So to know and feel
sure I’m his all else above.

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