Dark Haired Woman

I have discovered something else in this past year. I have fought it, railed against it, shouted obscenities in its face. I have discovered that coming home is only the first step in the journey. Coming home is not the same as being home.

She slips seductively through the shadows. The sound of silken motion.

The faintest echo of her footfall reaching deep inside me. Her image, her sound, her fragrance, calling me. The most alluring woman I've ever seen. Dimly, barley discernable, the flickering light from a distant source silhouettes her body. Lithe. Enticing. Her suggestion communicated with inaudible clarity.

The woman. The most beautiful, supple, desirable woman I have ever envisioned. She wants me. She has chosen me. Magic in her movement. Her breasts rising rhythmically with each breath. Her slender waist and rounded hips tapering to the inviting, invisible solidness of her thighs. Long, slender, silk-enshrouded legs. Her ankles and golden sandals intermittently seen through the swishing of her translucent gown. Raven black hair accenting the contours of her bare shoulders. The amber depths of her eyes reflecting my desire as I approach. Cunningly sultry. She conveys the purest essence of woman. The woman all men seek. The woman beyond the woman seen monthly in our magazines. She's there awaiting me in the vivid, muted colors which are beyond the limitations of the photographer's lens.

Beguiling, seductive, wanton. Waiting there for you. Can you resist her, young man? Don't you want to come with her?

Copyright © 2007 Kenneth W. Jones, all rights reserved. Web design by Art Spirit Webs.