She knew it; she was beautiful and she was there to be eaten and slowly. Men stopped to look at her without blushing, driven by the ancestral instinct of possessing the beautiful and perpetuating the species. The women tried to understand where so much beauty came from, wanting to buy some hours of their perfection. From the day I saw her, I sneaked up on her, with the hidden desire to possess her, to have every inch of her body in my hands, to feel the spell of her beauty and the warm touch of her lips bathed in lipstick.
I chased her shadow through the corners she passed by, trying to pick up the invisible trail of her perfume, and hold it like a treasure in my brain and recover it again in the darkness of the night, like a miser, to throw myself into the abyss of solitary pleasure.
One time he stopped to look at me and smiled at me. I didn't know how to react. I was petrified, watching him go down the street, as I picked up the ruins of his smile with my hands and tried to control the heat of my passion by palpitating in my crotch.
A few days later, I found her after leaving a couture shop. I approached her, she recognized me and smiled at me. I jumped off the cliff and said:
"I'd love to take you out to dinner."
She looked at me in a way I will never forget and I felt like a helpless dog crossing the highway in the middle of the night, on a cold, rainy day. Alone and without her.
There I began to understand the immense desert between me and her. I tried to forget her, but I couldn't. Even today, I sneak up on her, hiding in the shadows like a wretch to drink a little of her beauty and quench the thirst for my lust.
Image source: Pixabay
