He curled up his pillow under his head and reached out his hand to play with her hair.She smacked his hand away again and got up, reaching for her bat...robe. She turned and glanced at the clock. They had been asleep for less than an hour. She didn't want to look at him, refused to look at the picture he made. There he was laying in her bed, under her sheets, looking way too damn sexy for her own good. He was all male, with bare chest and mussed hair encamped in her flowered sheets like he. Am I another species of man or something? Apparently so. Other men don’t feel as I do or think as I do. Either I’m more than they, or they are less than I am. Whatever the case may be, we’re not the same breed. Once, while walking inside a mall on a hot summer day, I heard a female clerk refer to men as dogs while chatting with a male employee. In no unclear terms I let her know that I found her statement offensive. I wasn’t patronizing the establishment where she worked because I wanted to. More

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