Written January 22 2009
I like women. I like girls too. But I especially like women. I love the images it conjures. Spicy women, tall women, big women, curvy women, black women, Latin women, middle eastern women. The embodiment of controlled prowess. Dear god! I love women.
But like every fetishist, I come with a list of specifications. Outwardly I prefer curvy women with thicker thighs, smaller waists and ass that tells me she likes to indulge. The kind of body pushed to the brink of limitations. Child bearing is the furthest thing from my mind love, what else do those hips do?
Ah! The sweet extended swagger of a cat walk that a city cross walk can provide. How is it that the walk of a woman can cause momentary deafness, slack jaw and a confused heart rate that's not sure to stop dead in it's tracks or match the pulse of a speeding train. For the love of all things sinful - women!
Now inwardly you must already expect what I'm partial to. Yes! The kind of woman who takes the opening of Pandora's Box to it's full advantage. I like mouthy women. Bawdy and Tawdry. Not for the sake of attention. But in the way that straight shootin' will tear right through you. The Mae Wests and The Dorothy Parkers. The Cleopatras and the Lolitas.
Mm - The diversity! As much as I love a gal with a scholar's brain and a sailor's mouth there's definitely something to be said for class. This is something I know very little about. But I do know some cow's milk is just sweeter. It can mean the difference of a smooth fine wine to the bitter swill of bloating barley. Top shelf and reserved for larger bank accounts. Ingrid Bergman's who spawn Isabella Rossellini's. How does it even happen?
Women. The kind of stuff that fairy tales and duels are made of. The kind of stuff that makes your head swirl and your stomach sway. Velvet paintings and number one records. I could go on and on. Litter pages of paper with obsessive words about women and I still couldn't get my point across. Alls I know is at the end of the day when I lay down my head, I surely thank the Devil out of whoever put me in the company of a woman.
I like women. I like girls too. But I especially like women. I love the images it conjures. Spicy women, tall women, big women, curvy women, black women, Latin women, middle eastern women. The embodiment of controlled prowess. Dear god! I love women.
But like every fetishist, I come with a list of specifications. Outwardly I prefer curvy women with thicker thighs, smaller waists and ass that tells me she likes to indulge. The kind of body pushed to the brink of limitations. Child bearing is the furthest thing from my mind love, what else do those hips do?
Ah! The sweet extended swagger of a cat walk that a city cross walk can provide. How is it that the walk of a woman can cause momentary deafness, slack jaw and a confused heart rate that's not sure to stop dead in it's tracks or match the pulse of a speeding train. For the love of all things sinful - women!
Now inwardly you must already expect what I'm partial to. Yes! The kind of woman who takes the opening of Pandora's Box to it's full advantage. I like mouthy women. Bawdy and Tawdry. Not for the sake of attention. But in the way that straight shootin' will tear right through you. The Mae Wests and The Dorothy Parkers. The Cleopatras and the Lolitas.
Mm - The diversity! As much as I love a gal with a scholar's brain and a sailor's mouth there's definitely something to be said for class. This is something I know very little about. But I do know some cow's milk is just sweeter. It can mean the difference of a smooth fine wine to the bitter swill of bloating barley. Top shelf and reserved for larger bank accounts. Ingrid Bergman's who spawn Isabella Rossellini's. How does it even happen?
Women. The kind of stuff that fairy tales and duels are made of. The kind of stuff that makes your head swirl and your stomach sway. Velvet paintings and number one records. I could go on and on. Litter pages of paper with obsessive words about women and I still couldn't get my point across. Alls I know is at the end of the day when I lay down my head, I surely thank the Devil out of whoever put me in the company of a woman.
