June 26, 2011

She was never sexy; in fact if you looked up ordinary in the dictionary a picture of her would’ve accompanied the definition. Short, slightly round, yet not enough to be unappealing to the eye. She wore Capri pants when women had long thrown those into bags that were destined for the Salvation Army and the less fortunate. She had her hair tied in a bun with one little bang that lazily hung over her forehead. Yet she couldn’t hide those eyes, those big bright Atlantic Ocean blue pearls that made her more appealing. Yet and still I was too good for her, I deserve a head turner, a woman so gorgeous that she would make men jealous that she was an accessory on my arm. I need more than eyes, I need a reason for everything; you have to make want to sleep with you, make me crave you, bring out slights of jealousy that I should try my hardest to hold in while you converse casually with others, especially men. It isn’t just what I deserve, but how things should work, and they have, just not in the way either of us would have ever expected it. You are now slender with the proper curvature, making those flared jeans seem much more appetizing. Your hair is long, brown and beautiful, your lips the perfect shape and texture. It makes those eyes stand out even more and make you more tempting than any girl I’ve met these last two years since I first met you. You are a ten, a knockout, loved by all judges from the Americans to the Russians, or you should be. I am in lust and love with you, I want you for bodily pleasure and the pleasure of company that many couples wish they could have. The question now is this how you feel as well, or am I now below your standards? Will I satisfy your wants and selfish needs? Am I a better accessory than that Coach clutch? Am I sexy enough for you, or am I just ordinary?


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