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