ONE<br >Women wanted to talk about anger， identity， politics，<br >etc. I saw posters in Berkeley urging them to join groups.<br >I saw their leaders on TV. Strong， articulate faces. So<br >when Cavanaugh phoned and in~vited me to join a men s<br >club， I laughed. Slowly， not laughing， he repeated him-<br >self. He was six foot nine. The ~ze and weight entered<br >his voice. He and some friends wanted a club. "A regular<br >social possibility outside of our jobs and marriages. Noth-<br >ing to do with women s groups." One man was a tax<br >accountant， another was a lawyer. There was also a col-<br >lege teacher like me and two psychotherapists. Solid<br >types. I supposed there could be virtues in a men s club，<br >a regular social possibility. I should have said yes im-<br >mediately， but something in me resisted. The prospect<br >of leaving my house after dinner to go to a meeting.<br >Blood is heavy then. Brain is slow. Besides. wasn t this<br >club idea corny? Like<br >days. Locker-room fun.<br >at each other s genitals<br >be wretchedly truthful，<br >trying to recapture high-school<br >Wet naked boys Snapping towels<br > It didn t feel exactly right. To<br >any social possibility unrelated<br ><br >