Hot vs Cute vs Handsome (November 20th twenty12)
When I took my shirt off, I’d smile in an endearing way. I would sneak in hints of my evil thoughts.. and made sure my eye contact was always more powerful than hers. They neared me and felt my free nature. How I became so careless, yet comfortable was a mystery to them. I would make it more mysterious with my games. Honest, but obvious plays on words and situations that would drive them crazy. They had to get away from me.. But they didn’t want to. It didn’t matter if anybody admitted it or not, they were mine. Oh, they were all mine. And how I would dance between the lines of confidence and hubris. This is when they would call me hot. When they would call me sexy.
I could sit and laugh with her all night. She’d pinch my dimples and I would slap her ass. “Hey, you can’t just touch me whenever you want.. This shit ain’t free!” Of course, I was kidding.. But not really. I would let my dimple infested smile show as much as it would come. Every word she said to me, every witty comment.. I had an equally clever reply. I love this game of words. This boxing match of banter. And I loved to make her look like a fool.. but out of love. And she knew that.. I liked her. She could see it in my playfully cocky attitude. My silly wittiness. She was my friend. Or my comfortable lover. Whoever she was, she would call me cute and adorable. I am not an adjective these people give me.. But it gave me a secret delight to know I was hot and cute to people I got to meet.
I showed up in my well earned luxury car. From head to toe I was sharp. Dapper dress and intoxicating smell. A tribute to my philosophy, “Anything worth doing, is worth turning into an art form”. She’d smile pleasantly as I opened her doors and pulled out her seats. I’d tease her about her obvious triumphs, and encourage her where she lacks talent. She wonders how a gentleman still exists today. I tell her there’s a lot out there. “C’mon, doll. 100% of the women I’ve dated have dated at least one gentleman.” A ridiculous statistic? Maybe. But she laughs and hits me on my leg. When I put her arm in mine, she’d sneak in a tight squeeze and tilt her head to sneak a whiff of my scent.. or to rub herself through my clothes to see what kind of muscle I’m hiding underneath.. I can never tell which. I’d return her sweet smiles, with a sly one. When she tells me her story, I give her my curious eyes. When she’s bad, I kiss her. When she’s good, I’ll spank her. I love to confuse her. When she touches me, I pull away.. Then I tell her how much trouble she is to me.. only then, will I kiss her. All throughout the night, she’ll call me handsome. Perhaps a more mature form of cute. Or a lesser form of sexy. Either way, she has it all in me. And I’m glad to give it to her. She is my woman to love. And I am her man to please.
Not bad for a guy with only decent looks.