Heart of Eden, Calif.–7:14 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday
A man wants to be a woman’s first love. A woman wants to be a man’s last romance.
Oscar Wilde said that. The Irish writer and poet was ahead of the curve, ahead of his time. Brilliance touched him.
But I’ll veer–slightly–from Wilde’s genius: I don’t necessarily have to be your first love. I don’t mind in the least your having given your heart to someone(s) my predecessor. The experience is invaluable after all.
You see, one must navigate the thorns in order to capture and appreciate the ideal rose.
You’ve gotten pricked a few times, I can imagine. But the texture of the petals and the flower’s scent no doubt will heal all wounds, will they not?
When you see me this afternoon, I want you to take a moment to touch me–wherever your pleasure. My hand, my arm, my bared chest. Touch the petals and marvel in the texture . . . luxuriate in my scent, woman.
A rose, after all, is a pampering element. Rg2 said that (he’s no Wilde, but the guy’s got potential). And do you know what is the ideal day to pick the ideal wildrose?
Will yesterday’s pricks be a distant thought? I dare say absolutely. The pain has long since dissipated. You’ve entered the garden of Eden, this heart of mine.
No, it’s not a must that I be the first. A woman has to navigate the thorns of life and love. And romance. Her ability to discern, her capacity to differentiate is made all the better for the journey.
No, I need not be the first. Yet, make no mistake: You are my last.
My last romance.
Your journey’s completed. Eden has revealed itself. This heart of mine.
So, touch me tonight. Wherever your pleasure, touch the petals. I will kiss each finger, each tenderpoint where pain once resided. And then, with yours in mine, I will kiss each hand . . . as my predecessor failed to do.
I’ll pay homage to Wilde, a man after my own heart.
Eden will welcome you with open arms. Tonight.
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, my Love.
Pamper the woman . . . and light a fire to her soul. -Rg2
© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®