Coming towards me is a young college girl dressed as if she were going to the theater. I give her a second look before coming to a conclusion. She is on the prowl, not for a man but for sophisticated company. She wants to mingle with the pretentious and the artsy, but her knowledge of jazz is only enough to trigger a conversation without sounding unintelligible. Her jazz
repertoire consists mainly of staple songs, while the majority of her music collection is of House, R&B and Trance
. She frequents the club district, having spent hours in front of a mirror learning the steps to most effectively shake her ass.Meanwhile, her boyfriend, cat walking a blue blazer
and designer rip jeans, is half a step behind her and clutching her arm. Damn well better be with a pretty, petite, prey prime for the picking, he needs to hang on tight. She could go on breaking hearts for another ten years without worry; men will still be standing in line to take a number. Unfortunately, her boyfriend doesn’t see what I see. He strides along side her, erect and proud. I give his preppy outfit a once over. It turns out that my scrutiny was enough to injure his ego because when he walks past, he checks my shoulder. I don’t bother to look back.Instead, I am drawn to a pizza
stand, more precisely, a pair of legs covered in silk black stockings
. They belong to a late 30s professional. She has on a black pleated skirt
, an off-white blouse
and height regulated heels
suggesting that she has come directly from her workplace. Dedicated to her career, yet able to reserve energy to enjoy the pleasures of life, this woman has achieved a delicate balance not easily attainable.She has sex appeal. The idea of a sophisticated woman in my arms is curiously tempting. She was a woman of real size, aptly curved, trim and tall. Most of the girls today are scrawny and disproportioned. Their tiny waistline make their ass look like bubble butts while their tits get pushed, squished and padded. Bras
are a funny thing; you never really know what’s under the packaging until they are removed.I find myself staring at her even more intently as I make my way into the line. A feud between two siblings has captured everyone in queue except me. I cannot, for unknown reasons, keep my eyes off this woman. She does not resemble anyone famous. However, her features were famous. The little nose, the full lips, high cheek bones and the deep eyes are characteristics of true beauty. Unlike glamour, it does not fade with time. I trace the silhouette of her curves with my gaze while my thoughts quickly become R-rated. I fear I will fall into the latest Hollywood trend, where a younger man is in the arms of an older woman. Don’t misunderstand, if given the chance, I will leap against all better judgment. She will either regret the invitation or enjoy the unrelenting attention.
I wonder what type of man has such a woman in his arms at night. Who you would stereotypically expect them to be with is generally not the correct assumption. I mean, by looking at this woman, I would reckon a tall, well-dressed, successful Eastern European entrepreneur to be her companion. Yet, some neurotic, penniless, needy, self-proclaimed artist has probably won her heart.
I hold my place with only a foot, trying to respect the imaginary boundaries of a line, all the while gawking at her as if she’s prey. You know when you are officially spying when you find yourself peering through the gaps of people’s shoulders and cursing at stray hair blocking your view. A pretty girl distracts a man for the time it takes for her to pass by. A sinful girl will cause a man to twist his neck until she’s out of sight. A girl who makes all other worldly attractions disappear is a possible soul mate.
[To be continued...]
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