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The Spring has brought out a more visceral part of me, that is fed by loneliness. It must be the preponderance of flesh that has exploded from the stuffy winter clothes into the warm sun. I have just never noticed how many women there are here, and how they are all so varied and wonderful. The world has been full of graceful lines and curves for the past two weeks and it is beginning to take its toll. Sitting on the steps of the library I have the urge to jump up, animal mad, and pull one of them close, breathing in her beautiful smells, kissing her so passionately and so thoroughly that my heart will try to burst from my chest, and then for the cool shadow between our faces, a whisper apart, breathing heavily and fully ravaged. I want to feel the press of life, the sweet surrenderous rapture in the grasping of a soft waist. I can smell each of them as they walk past, some like honeysuckle, others jasmine, but all so beautiful and new. It is a lust of the mind, an unslakeable thirst for the fresh skin of a winter-pale shoulder, dotted with freckles, and soft as silk. Spring fever indeed.

Here is my daydream of woman:

She is faceless for me, but her face still has attributes. I know it to be smooth, and soft, her hair is dark. She smiles with her eyes. When I get out of bed on a Saturday morning she is still asleep, tangled and draped in the bedclothes. Her hair is ruffled and sticking out at odd angles, casting shadows onto the pillow as the sun comes streaming through the windows. She makes noises as I leave the bed, and the curve of her shifts so that she lays on her side away from me. I am in love with her back, will kiss her spine in a few minutes once I get a cup of coffee. I am already seeing the smile that she will have when I do, her eyes still closed, voice husky, she will whisper good morning. I will climb back into bed and fold myself into the shape of her, press my body against hers, wrap an arm about her waist. She is the most amazing thing to witness in the soft bedroom light. Any sight of her skin makes me desperate to smother it with my lips. I will kiss her softly on the back of her neck and stroke her hair, I love the way she smells. She wears regular white cotton underwear, and I have seen all of her special sexy underwear anyway, no surprises left except her mind. My legs will be wrapped up in hers, and she will talk to me for a while without opening her eyes to look. I'll make a joke about her and she will elbow me lightly in the ribs, and playfully call me a jerk before she turns over and kisses me. I love her lips. I will touch her face softly with my hand, trying to memorize her with my fingers. This whole dream is a warm smile. This never ends. We stay here forever. And forever doesn't seem like such a long time in a place like this, an eternity lasts as long as a kiss.

Reading back over that it is more like a romance novel than anything else, but hey it's my head and I can think however I want. Oh to find the girl with the right mix of class, beauty, grace, adventure, passion, and guilessness. That same old feeling of missing someone that I have never met. Le sigh.


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