Mr. Johnson: Rock Solid
credit: adan32rehan
“Taking good care of a woman and earning her devotion is not that hard a matter, as many men believe.
“Honesty. Integrity. Work and faith ethics. Be a man of your word.
“And working on the biceps and the cardio a little bit certainly doesn’t hurt.
“It’s no herculean task to capture her heart. Though I admit . . .
. . . I pamper my woman.”
_____________
***
Pamper her . . . like a lover’s rock. -Rg2
© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®
“Nubiana: A Love Story” by Rg2
. . . Monessa decided to visit the ladies room to freshen up before sitting again. She followed the lettered signs to the main lobby, marveling at its floor plan. The towering banana trees that sprung up from the first floor gave the hotel a safari milieu. She paused by a glass handrail encircling the middle of the floor and admired the scenic layout. Along the lacquered stone-carved walls hung hand paintings worthy of study. She walked over to get a closer look, awed by the collection, one in particular.
“An Avery Coutrezant replica, one of his most celebrated works.”
The unexpected voice took her attention away from the painting. She turned and met the same pair of alluring eyes that made their introduction from across the room earlier.
“He originated that piece in the late 1700s while in bondage on a southern plantation. His fingers were severed when it was learned that he’d done it. Exceptional, isn’t it?”
Monessa gazed back at the artwork. Somewhere between the majestic masterpiece and the words that had just been spoken, she was momentarily voiceless.
“It’s breathtaking,” she finally released.
“Only two types of viewers are attracted to a work of art like that.”
“And who would that be,” she questioned, her eyes still fixed on the painting.
“A beautiful person or a beautiful mind. Maybe, just maybe, both.”
She looked back at him once again, the shared visual language suddenly heightened, sensing a subjective motive beneath the surface of the comment. She liked it.
“Thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”
“What did he have that I didn’t?”
She gave him an empty look.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You turned me down and then you danced with someone else.”
She focused on the painting once again, having placed his question on hold, letting go of a slight smile realizing what he was referring to.
“Better timing, I guess,” she finally remarked, allowing eye contact again.
“Timing. I see,” he shot back, mildly. “How’s my timing now?”
She turned toward the man and looked more deliberately at him, a from-the-shoulders-up examination that led again to his eyes. The dim lights in the other room had actually concealed his physical assets. He was even more attractive than she’d gathered.
“I’m afraid it’s off again,” she said with a hint of bravado. “If you’ll excuse me there’s something I forgot to do.” She began walking away until his next statement arrested her movement.
“You look fine . . . you don’t need a mirror to tell you that.” If he weren’t standing there, just beyond a handshake’s distance, she wouldn’t have believed he’d said it. “I figure I’d save you the walk to the ladies room. Nothing needs to be done, trust me.”
She knew when she was being flirted with, but there was something terribly different about this man’s come-on, it intrigued her. Still, she played him off.
“Thank you, but wrong assumption, I was going back to the party,” she fibbed.
“Care for an escort?”
His assertiveness merited consideration, almost.
“That really won’t be necessary. I think I can find my way.” She began walking away as he stood watching her every step.
“I didn’t get your name?”
Once again she faced him, the widened zone of emptiness between them marked only by the hanging artwork. He stood in the same spot with his hands planted comfortably in his pockets.
“Monessa.”
He shortened the space between them with a subtle step toward her.
“Monessa. Is there more?”
“Monessa Endicott,” she gave him. The space between them lessened further, gravity had artfully changed direction. “And you are?”
“Kolin.” He extended his hand and she placed hers in his palm, traces of his cologne adrift in their shared air.
“Kolin,” she repeated. “Is there more?” Seizing on the perfect opening for a little verbal fun, her wit, belying her usual seriousness, became a bread breaker.
“Kolin Pearson,” he gave back to her, with a measured smile. “The pleasure’s all mine, Monessa. I have to say, I’ve never seen a woman wear red the way you do.” He let go of her hand. “And thanks for turning me down tonight. Maybe my timing will be better on the next one.” Her eyes trailed him to the escalator as his tall frame descended and disappeared into the night. She wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but the man certainly made an impression . . . .
____________________________________
***
Romance . . . is alive. Are you? -Rg2
“Nubiana: A Love Story” © Roy Greer/Romance by Rg2®
“Her Fantasy Island”
Listen, woman, I intend for you to clear your mind
. . . rid your inner sanctum of its clutter,
Can I re-introduce you to Father Nature
and the soothing lyrics he wishes to utter?
A little alone time, some pheromone time,
I’ll grant you before my arrival,
With undulating sea songs and peopleless throngs
This life is much more than survival
Seems everyone wants a piece of you
So in demand are your emotional gifts,
But I offer to bestow some peace unto you
Unmooring your mind that it drifts
To a seaside escape, I’ve got your voice on tape
I played it as I wrote last night,
“If you’ll be gentle with me, I’ll be tender with you . . .”
The sacred candle we’d mutually light
Such taste and grace and willing to self-efface
Might you be the womanly ideal?
Perfection is but a notion in perpetual motion
But, my, how you make me feel:
A walker of water, a leaper of mountains
A wisher that summer never ends,
These powers you give me, silly though they be
We’ve forgiven one another our sins
Of our individual past, neither a stone to cast
The mistakes we’ve certainly made a few,
But you washed my hands and I washed your feet
I’m cloudwalking and it’s probably you
And it’s probably me, it’s hard to say it
but, yes, it’s probably me,
My pampering methods so irresistible
Be ready for a Friday romance spree
I’ll meet you there, at the water’s edge
A summer bouquet will be in hand,
We have the island all to ourselves–and more
Only our footprints in the sand
The luau begins at sunset, my love, then
moonlight will have something to say,
And don’t forget to open the gift box, my love
After all . . .
. . . it’s Pamper-Her-Friday.
___________________________________
***
Pamper the woman . . . like a summer’s romance. -Rg2
© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®
A man and his thoughts
Dear Wanakee,
Forgive me the delayed arrival of this letter. The words are no less meaningful. Your note was beautifully written: heartful, compelling and sincere. Saddened though I was upon reading your thoughts, I sensed the end was near.
Our relationship had begun to evolve into something special. A little too special in light of the circumstances. We were on the verge of loving each other, truly loving the other. But we momentarily forgot: No love intended.
Tender are my thoughts.
Looking back, I guess it wasn’t suppose to be so good, was it? The differences, the distance, the imaginary barriers—all together, they’ve proved too much to weather.
But those tender moments shared shall remain locked away within the chambers of your heart, buried deep in your soul, penned in your mental diary as special moments on which to cheerfully yet tearfully reflect.
Ours is an experience to cherish. I appreciate your having the courage and taking the time to explore the possibilities. It was never my intent to complicate your life, Wanakee. Hardly did I expect to inspire your emotions. But just maybe I’ve been more than an acquaintance for you; rather, a revelation. A revelation of what your heart could come to love.
Tender are my thoughts.
Position the blank canvas anew on its easel and fingerstroke our memories in all the colors of romance, the breathlessness, the shoreline races at dusk, the impromptu cuisine rivalries that erupted into food fights, our chests as plates, your hands as saucers from which I sipped your nectar from our shared cup runneth overjoyed.
The silly den-hosted, dimly lit talent shows, us two alone–you won them all, even the ones I should have. The private piano lessons: You, the novice, teaching me, the ultra-novice, finger-to-key coordination as you hovered over my shoulders, your heart rhythms at once fast and calm, playing by funny ear, even with the notes staring at us.
“Goodbye,” you said. “This has to be our goodbye.” Reluctantly I walked to the door, your final request obliged, no words could I conjure, simply one last glance at your haunting eyes, and stepped out of the entryway. You sorrowfully shut it behind me. But stood there, your hand unable to release the knob, your body rested against the partition, mine stubbornly adjacent to its outer side.
I heard neither the bolt nor the chain. Still, I offered no last knock. The finality was in your eyes.
You resumed painting. I resumed writing.
Neither of us to stop until our very last breath.
Tender are my thoughts,
Rg2
__________________________________________
***
Romance . . . is learning to love again. -Rg2
© 2014 Romance by Rg2®
image: by pauchok
Pacific Pier–8:57 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday Eve:
“Before I let you go, can I get a kiss good night, Love?”
“Just maybe,” she blushes, “but only if you’ll recite me a moonlight poem.”
Upon clearing his throat, closer he pulls her, no air between, gathers his thoughts, and bares his creative soul:
“What light through yonder nightsky blings
To yours, my sweet, my heart doth clings,
From one thousand leagues under the sea
The millionth naut shall I swim to thee,
My arms to you belong, thine arms alone
will carry your spirit as my very own,
Thy romance I proffer–goodbye yesterlife’s sorrow
For I ask the moment of your hand tomorrow . . .”
Her contented sigh lingers beneath her still-closed eyes as the requested kiss is rendered with aplomb.
“But tomorrow?” she asks.
“Yes, tomorrow,” he gazes toward the moon, then returns to her glinting eyes.
“It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.”
_____________________________
***
Romance lives. -Rg2
Would you mind company Friday?
© 2014 Romance by Rg2®
image: by xame1eon
“No Objection”
Say, lovely woman, I’ve reserved a swath of oceanfront real estate
So that nary a beach-going soror will hate
On the beautiful summer work you’ve put into your body
Though I’m not quite inclined to use the word “hottie”
To describe such artwork? A more angelic description
For the man with sore eyes I’ve the ideal prescription:
A waterfront view so aqua blue with solely you in the frame
Your bare essence at noonlight is calling my name
It’s shed-it-all Friday, my angel, doesn’t that have a nice ring?
A take-it-off high day, my angel, I’ve got just the thing . . .
A total-body-sunscreen-by-hand application
Hesitate not to let me know if there’s a tingling sensation
And no liner sun marks at chest high and pelvis low
Every inch of your skin deserves vitamin I know
Even the sun is lusting, so too is the jealous sky
Let your hair down, my lady, I insist you let it fly
Into the wind, swept askew, and all caution therewith
Mmm, that picture’s so lovely, are you a maker of myth?
No objection have I to a woman’s bare-naked truth
I’m forever a gentleman but I’m losing my couth
In the moment, woman, don’t foment my unbridled passion
Might it have been better were you to have rationed
Each piece of the ‘kini like a slow motive untold
But my eyes were in a hurry for such a sight to behold
The beach is yours, my Love, while I summon the boat
And on our walk to the topdeck, your body I’ll tote
Setting sail around the bay, into the sunset we’ll play
Appletinis with no bikini–it’s Pamper-Her-Friday . . . .
______________________
***
Pamper the woman . . . and forever live in her soul. -Rg2
© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®
Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 