reality vs. fantasy

well, i took one end of the world beer with me. called out to celebrate the dead festival. (not the 'grateful dead' of garcia fame, but some may be grateful...) the storyteller was there. and damned if the kismet didnt spark me again... recurring theme ya know... he starts to tell of his youth. this guy lost his father in p.i. during WW11... raised way out in the country in a village with only 2 cars. but the village had 2 movie theatres. one specializing in movies from the west. he hid the money he was supposed to use for the yearly school excursion in the cracks of his room and snuck out at night to see movies with errol flynn and the likes. kiss scenes and chivalry he cant fathom... stuff that makes his blood boil in more places than he can fathom... sent off to deeper countryside for incorrigable behaviour.(sneaking out to see movies) he is an outsider so joins the art club. the art teacher insists he needs life drawing classes. ah, women have such delicate egos too dont ya know. the teacher talks the young female student down to only panties. this guy and his bud were sweating so hard they couldnt see. his fondest erotic memories are of her bare shoulder he has never touched. then he tops it off with a story about a girl who called for him when he was 16. she was getting married to another guy (those were the days when most marraiges were arranged). one day she shows up and begs him to run away with him. twice she begged him. he says no. he couldnt understand. women are women from a young age. when do men grow up? he meets her 40 years later at a reunion and both of them stand there, she is crying. he is speechless. they shake hands and part, never to meet again. is there a man who is more thrilled by the conquest than the chase? isnt the real thing far more beautiful than the fantasy? i dont want the fantasy, i need the reality...