INTRIGUE

One should always try to be on the right side of intrigue...to err in this realm is detrimental......though some indulgence is permitted, and may even be the spark you need to reconnect with your creative self, an aspect of your life you had cast by the wayside, a talent buried and wasted in pursuit of monetary rewards, a necessity for life, you accept that this time, it may be better to turn your back.

The right injection of intrigue, can be sufficient to rekindle the embers of that self you loved so much and you become thankful for the catalyst, though you relaise that you may also become too comfortable in this space because its too easy to lead him astray with your words, with your imaginings expressed in verse, and you increasingly become intoxicated with the power it gives.

Good thing you are experienced in the evils of intrigue, a lesson learnt too long ago to ingnore the warning signs, so you don't indulge much more and you allow acquaintanceship/bredrendom to unfold......if he will only allow it to.

Light Reading

I like, no love, a man in a suit. A well made suit that is, with beautiful accent colour shirt and tie, pants fitting his ass and hanging nicely in the front…(not the tailor's responsibility)….top that off with a nice pair of shoes and matching belt and I will walk up to him and tell him he is wearing the hell out of the suit. That aside, there's something about a thug too…wife-beater, jeans (hanging nicely in the front as well), timberlands and dew rag, possibly. There's something dangerously sexy about that, especially if he has that US "I've been to prison and decided to work out for the duration of my sentence" body.

Last Friday was a girlfriend's earthday and a few of us got together for a little celebration. It started at the house after work, we had wine, easy dinner and a whole lot of conversation. At about 10:00 p.m, we decided to "guh si weh deh pon di road" . We got dressed and I must say that we were a well blended set, the cute, the sophisticated and the chic, all touching on the various constructs of sexy, I think. We settled on a nice little dive close to home, cause some of us were already half drunk and didn't want to stray too far.

We toasted the birthday girl for her fifth go round at "Age-25" and settled in for a great night. We chatted and danced and refused drinks as we went along until I relaised that I was in the company of women who were married or in committed relationships and needed to represent for my single sisters...or those wishing to be free from captivity, whichever.

I flirted with a few, danced with one while eying another and invited him to join me and the other him, but then I grew bored. Some men are really weird (but that's another post).
Back in the fold, I ordered a Hieneken having grown tired of the water I was drinking to counteract the wine. Seems everyone was waiting for me to break loose so it was a round of liquor for all…I hate drinking alone. I encouraged them to drink, flirt, dance enjoy themselves, afterall, the spouses weren't around and when next would they get an opportunity like this to be fancy free. We work too hard for everyday indulgence in this stuff, so why not enjoy the night out. There was agreement and things really got interesting. Had I known that there would have been overindulgence in the clothed flesh, I wouldn't have given such a resolute charge. But I figured they were big girls and knew entirely what they were doing. In the midst of the party, we 'cheersed' and laughed and became the life of a section of the room. It was hard not to notice us.

It was in the throws of a standing toast that I spotted, Mr. Thug. Damn…he was nice. The small enough Tee was accentuating his chest and nipples, arms that you knew could deadlift your weight with ease as he positions you to accept a gift, and…he was wearing the hell out of the pair of jeans. Thighs, that made you wish to be under them, long legs which led to God only knows where, he was a specimen….and that swagger mmmmmm. I was snapped back to reality, by laughter at my reaction to the passerby. "A girl can't help looking" I apologized, and continued with the business of partying.

Its amazing how you can know when someone is watching. So as I danced with a youngish suitor, I put on a Broadway befitting show. I glimpsed him from time to time but he seemed comfortable with just watching so I stopped performing. There's nothing quite like a 'Thuggy' Player, who seemingly had been exposed to this game before and was therefore very unaffected by my actions. I caught his eye for a bit and as we played 'who could look away first', he raised his glass for a sip of something blue and nodded in my direction, for my purposes I assumed it was Hypnotic….not a bad drink, very refreshing…. . I returned the compliment and averted my gaze.

He was something to look at, but he was getting too cocky with my obvious interest, so I put him behind me. It was a good night, we left at 4 in the morning after chatting and drinking in the car park for an hour, dissecting the night's events. As we chatted, I noticed a green Landcruiser with a lone driver moving slowly in our direction. Given the upsurge of criminality in the country I suggested to the group that we pile into our cars quickly. Being women, this was an exercise, so before we could all pile into the two vehicles, the man and his beast of a vehicle were upon us. We decided to play it tough…enough, and acted as though there was protection and strength in numbers. With lights on and moving at 2 miles per hour it approached. Shit. You always should buss a little prayer in these situations, if you believe, help will come…..we believed.

As it came closer I was able to distinguish through the heavy tint, a familiar body….it was the Thug. He stopped and greeted us with a wonderful "Good morning", with eyes trained on me. As is customary therefore, one has to pretend at the end of a wild night, that "It wasn't you" so I organized a group recited thank you and similar wish (you know, like when you were in primary school and the teacher comes into the class) it was a chorus of voices and he smiled, winked at me, and drove away.

As I reflect today on the matter, I can't help liking a Big man's approach to these things, he knew it was just flirting and left it at that. There was no expectation of numbers passing, no pressure at all. Nice.

A Real Woman

If there is one fault I find with men its that they never really are able to distiguish a real woman, from amidst the bevy of females who present themselves for interest. I wish sometimes they could look beyond the physical appeal...the luscious lips, the full chest, the curves and tiny waist, the sweet smile, the scent of her...the piece of ass she is, and look for one moment, at the real her...what's inside.

Don't get me wrong, sometimes what's inside is pumpous, shallow and ugly...but in some instances, in some weird twist of life she is much, much more. She is a being, an individual, she is love, she is drama, she is a treasure, she is a woman of worth, no matter who she is on the outside, or her circumstances.

A Real Woman:

- Gets the job done no matter what the cost
- Walks tall while feeling low
- Sells her greatest asset for food for her children
- Takes no bows for changing minds and perceptions
- Sees no impediment to loving her family and man more than herself
- Gets hurt when her love is cast aside
- Aches for her man and uses another to ease the pain
- Keeps herself chaste for the man of her dreams yet will frig him up in anyway she can
- Marvels at the sunset and weeps for her soul
- Suspends her own dreams and aspirations to assist whoever she can
- Has a voice like an angel and only sings for her sons
- Is patient enough to learn a lesson in patience
- Can forgive the most heinous of crimes against her
- Can make love to Tom in the morning, John in the afternoon and her husband in the evening and none would know the difference
- Is not threatened by self proclaimed usurpers
- Allows a man to be a man, accepting his faults and his good bits :)

A real Woman will always be woman enough for whatever life throws at her.

Overused Pot of Dreams

If he were here on this Rock, on this day, I would throw caution and my work assignments to the wind and rest for 2 days in his arms on a beach on the North Coast. I would hold my heart up to the sun and hope he sees right through to my core.

Then I would treat him to a sweet taste of the me I reserve only for my Boogie, all of me. I would wrap my arms around him as he slept, brush my lips against his forehead for no reason and whisper forbidden words until he springs into action.

I would lead him to stand as I fall to my knees, eager, unrelenting, to please. I would meet his point with hungry lips and tongue....sliding him in inch, by glorious inch until my throat ached from the pressure of the foreign object, now resting deep within. I would place his hands at the back of my head and encourage him to maximize the thrusting effect as he fills my mouth and I would relish my own juicy response. That throb, that burn in the pit of my loins, acknowledging that male presence and the good vibes it evoked.

I would encourage him to feel my response and watch as he runs his fingers soaked in my sweet release, across his tongue.....then I would open my own mouth for a sample of me on his lips and fingertips, and he would oblige. How sweet it would be.

I would spend two days at his feet. These 2 days would be like there were no others to follow, like life and love depended on me and only me in this time, and I would love him for every minute, however and where ever he liked.

I would surrender my mind and body to his needs, I would pray for the sun to give me the gift of time and stay high in the sky each day until he had to go, with memories of me in tow, back to his life, where I am but a figment of his imagination, cause he knows who and how I am ....and he knows he will always be but one, despite my actions in the two days, he would know and accept that would always remain just one of those whom I choose to release myself to.