By Delbert H. Rhodes
She walks in his direction, as he sanitizes his hands. Looking at her, he recalls earlier years when he first saw her; she remains as stunningly beautiful as she ever was. Framing her face, coal-black hair with curls reach down to brush her shoulders, alabaster skin boasting sunshine illuminates and eyes of black satin captivate him. Usually, he prefers the skin of darkly creamed to medium tones, however, subjectively, white is the color for her. While training, she works hard as she expertly engineers her routines and her bodylines, long, sleek, athletic, but sweetly feminine, speak to the benefits, the beauties of physical fitness.
This lady is the picture of perfect, both in the commercial sense and the personal and more private sense. Physically, she meets the spec sheet for goddess and wife, he has no idea how her mind works, and regarding his choices of women thinking is critical; after all, if she poorly reasons then conversations are little more than gossip. No thanks to that type. That he could feel such passions for her is romantic, for neither of them has ever spoken to the other.
Knowing he is here yet without eye contact, she almost brushes him as she passes by. Selecting a bottle of cleanser, slowly, she rounds to the opposite side of the cleaning station. Innocuously rotating her palms to wipe them, she exposes her right hand ring finger; diamonds dazzle his eyes. Is she married or is she playing? Nonetheless, if she intends it he would soon know. Remaining within arm’s reach she delicately diverts her eyes from him. From behind a complementary stare, quietly, he speaks, “You should never do that it is risky.”
Even the Jetson’s Rosie could not have appeared as busy while cleaning. Without glancing at him, she finally replies, “Never do ‘what?’” “Blindly stroll into the wanton passions of a man.” As she returns to her workout station, slightly, a smile resonating ‘okay, you made it to bat’ encourages him. With pinpoint accuracy, her paper towel finds the narrow mouth of the garbage can.
Watching her walk away, he realizes that she directed the entire scenario; it actually happened as she had scripted it, everything neatly conceived from approach to departure. In some ways, a man’s cunning derives from a woman’s plan; there are no better strategists of male, female behaviors than women…smiling, already he feels her arms about him, but his pursuit must be proper, and encouraging, but never arrogantly rude… she approaches, his eyes widen, “Beautiful, simply beautiful.”Copyright © 2014 Delbert H. Rhodes
By Delbert H. Rhodes
She walks along the runway and I watch her, her hair flowing and perfectly prepared. Each fiber combed and caressed by the architects of style. Gleaming, her lustrous hair radiantly dazzles the eyes, her lips purse with touches of red, beige, or black. Ten rainbows embrace her hands displaying splendid coloration. The colors tease illuminating sexually.
The room becomes warmer. The jewels kissing her finger round neck are fragile tasteful and wanton. The pearls they bare speak of deep seas and deeper mysteries. Her smiles tenderly ask, “Am I affecting you. Are you awed?” I think, yes. I watch her as she moves with technique and the industry’s grace.
She is confident and I am curious. I wonder why it has to be that way. I wonder why she must appear so gaunt. I ask me questions without solid answers. Maybe, I think, I should enjoy the show and surrender to the process. After all, they are the experts and who am I?
Seductively, the human mask the thriving mannequin captivates me. Look there in the window, she moves. Although emaciated she is beautiful and I think I adore her. Oh, yes, she is pretty. Then she pivots, waits, smiles, and then looks at me. Does she truly see me? Truly? She opens the garment displaying its inner skins. I think the material is fabulous simply lovely –Fine, Pure, Expensive.
The Armani model thin and rail like a tree’s limb. The limb reaching branching out, the broken limb about to fall, and the limb lying on the ground-a twig I toss into the hearth to warm the fire. Her gait is artificial the leg lift robotic. The knees seem as though lifted by tight string, the feet heavily rise, and then fall to the floor like the hooves of horses. Yes, she walks like a horse. I wait to hear the whinny, but instead she pauses.
She smiles and then spins returning down the runway–Clop, Clop, Clop. Her garment trails to music of tiny cross threads, the sleek fabric mindful of water trickling over skeletal stones. I envision an Ice Cream Cone straining beneath its milky flesh. The cone and fingers quickly covered by sticky droplets, a lusting tongue consumed by pleasure.
The woman captivates me. She is Syren singing to lure men, Aphrodite whose beauty (even) the gods envy, and then Medusa her hypnotic stare a beacon of destruction. The woman is impressive and whatever her flavor, I think, ‘Delicious.’
Copyright © 2006 Delbert H. Rhodes
By Delbert H. Rhodes
Staring into her eyes, Tony feels wounded by her sorrows. Anna is hurt because she cares for Tony, and though he has produced creative works inspired by others and especially women he has written nothing because of her. Tony aches for Anna, she is special to him and he loves her. Attempting to quell Anna’s anguish, he speaks while holding her hand.
“There is reason that I have not written because of you. My feelings for you are so delicate; they are powerful. I fear that if I were to produce works inspired by you my passions would entomb me. Then for the life of me what could I do.” Her heart pounding Anna begins to tear. She intently listens as Tony continues.
“My dear Anna, you are young, and beautiful and I am much older; your life, your friends are strange worlds to me. We are too different; I could not relate.” (Tony withdraws from his desire to hold Anna.) “You have a boyfriend; you love him. I am alone and I love you. The circle suffers fragmentation, too many obstacles to a meaningful connection. Anna, what should I do? Should I expect you to leave your boyfriend, to surrender all that you are to him, giving up everything you have with him? Am I the fool to dare such thoughts? No, Anna. Yes, sweet woman, I want you; but what should I do and what would become of me?”
Tony’s pleas deeply affect Anna, yet his words ring with sincerity, truth. These last moments, and although all Tony has said she feels and truly knows, still, Anna must honestly acknowledge her passions for Tony. For seven years, she has loved her boyfriend and engagement soon follows. Oh, what should she do? Her eyes welling with torrents the distraught woman says nothing, she sadly turns, and then walks away.
Copyright © 2012 Delbert H. Rhodes