Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

The Obama Women, The Graceful American Experience
credit: AP Photo/Pablo Martinez Monsivais

Dear Mrs. Obama,

I’m not the perfect citizen.

I haven’t been the ideal American example, I readily admit.

Can I do more? Sure. Can I serve more, volunteer more? Absolutely. And I’m working on it.

However, I am a faithful tax payer. I’m unwaveringly law abiding. I’m a natural, relentless practitioner of the Puritan work ethic–entrepreneurial by instinct, a believer that the best of the human spirit resides in a man’s ideas and his pursuits thereof.

I’m a flawed American, Mrs. Obama, as most of us are. Quite the truth. But I’m also an uplifter. Never will I tear down another. Nothing gains a man or woman in such a flimsy endeavor. Nothing.

The impetus for this letter, however, is certainly not my own life. Far from.

As you’re aware, a substantial portion of the Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2 series, as well as the Romance by Rg2 running theme, has been devoted to both you and President Obama. I simply want to offer thanks.

I feel privileged to have been lucky enough to walk this earth simultaneous to your and your family’s emergence and historic precedence in this current chapter of the American experiment.

To say that you’ve been a breath of fresh air is utter anti-hyperbole. Democracy is gritty. It’s slugfest-like. It’s heartbreaking. It’s sometimes hypocritical. It certainly can be ugly.

But ultimately democracy is oh so beautiful. It is via democracy that your family came to the fore. And I was privileged with the opportunity to write about it.

Lucky, I.

These are days of grace. We all can do a little better. And we will. We’re a blessed people, we Americans.

And your family is an example of that: A blessing.

The American history, citizenship, politics and government books that were required reading during my K-12 and higher education matriculation made no mention of the Obamas and others of your ilk those years ago. Just think, those now written and yet to be written and published will include this new chapter of the American experience–required reading, no less.

Lucky, I.

Lucky, we.

I simply want to express my sincere thanks.

Oh, and happy Pamper-Her-Friday to you and those beautiful First Daughters.

Tender are my thoughts,
Rg2

___________________________

***

God, pamper the women . . . and bless America. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

The Captivatingly Beautiful Ms. Chantelle Brown-Young, Vitiligo Spokesmodel, America’s Next Top Model Contestant

“The Enchanting Spell of Chantelle”

Chantelle, I’d call it just short of a spell
that which you cast like a heaven’s rain,
In a world seduced by eye-length beauty
My heart responds to a deeper refrain:

The beholder defines the visual art
Less pupil or cornea than soul-touch,
When a woman walks in without pretense
My, does she move the grounded man much

More than cosmetology’s sleight-of-face wonders
There’s that little hesitant girl within,
Just in case she wasn’t hugged enough
A truer caring lives around the bend

Muffled snickers and callous jeers
may well linger from yesterday,
Can I relinquish the sneers and the curious leers?
A man needs inspiration for Pamper-Her-Friday

Validation not needed–to hell with that
Our Heavenly Father knows what he’s doing,
Angels are sent to beautify the earth . . .
. . . the prejudicial mind’s ungluing

Spread your wings, enchanting woman, go forth
take your place among the celestial stars,
I’m telescoping your flight with endless smiles
You’ve empowered me to shed my own scars

Writing with proof and inviting the truth
Sade sang we’re all hurting inside,
But one life is all each of us is given
True love cannot the darkness hide

May countless others look upon you
and know that their mirror is indeed a friend,
And may the most imperfect man kiss your hand
introducing hypocrisy to its end

Ever higher may you fly, a ribbon in the sky
Blaze a trail revealed to others a way,
A higher love to which we all can aspire
I honor you this Pamper-Her-Friday.

___________________

***

“Growing up, it was a ‘fake it ’til you make it’ type of thing. I just decided, ‘You know what? I’m going to keep telling myself I’m beautiful until I feel beautiful.’ And it happened.” -Chantelle Brown-Young

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

“A Summer Jones Renewed”

Now, we both know a woman doesn’t fall for just any man
By all means, I suggest you draw your line in the sand

So I can step over and across like I’m the one anointed
to erase the pain of my predecessor who only disappointed

Your I-deserve-to-be-treasured sense and sensibilities
Allow me to wash away all traces of the iniquities

Visited upon you in past relationships gone awry
Go ahead, let it go, let out that one final cry

So long trapped, stowed away in the emotional vault within
I’ve got the secret passcode, woman, with flowers I’m walking in

To take up summer residence, the beach house of your heart
A surf and turf feast I’ve prepared–but will you take part?

Or will I be shore dining alone . . . wouldn’t that be a shame?
I need a sandcastle collaborator and I’m spelling out your name

Next to my own, bordered by a heart, so visible from the sky
Take a pillow seat and bare your feet, the tingle before your sigh

You can attribute to the allure of my pamper-her talent trove
Now come, I’ll bring the wine, I know of a hidden cove

Beneath the cliffs, a few degrees west, encrusted with gemstones
Holding hands along the way, a confirmation of this jones

I see so clearly in your eyes and feel so warmly in your hand
On our return we will notice: no longer that line in the sand

Erased by rolling waters, symbolic of the pain washed away
This is our summer of love renewed, a special Pamper-Her-Friday.

____________________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . and forever live in her soul. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

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®

Viceroy Bali Hotel

“Romance and Restoration”

Pre-dawn will be our takeoff, Love, be ready to go
to Indonesia’s island Bali, few are in the know

Tropics and pamper-her topics, letting your mind run free
Carte blanche the whole weekend by Friday romance decree:

Do with me what you want and naked skin we can flaunt
medicinal stone massages await at a hidden guest haunt

A straw-hut suite with modern perks, overlooking the lush greens
Watching you bask uninhibited against the panoramic scenes

Untainted air is almost unfair as it gently cleanses the lungs
A welcome reprieve from the pressures of the money ladder rungs

Constant climbing and relentless timing of the American dream chase
can make the mind schizophrenic–I wanna slow down the pace

A little less torque while I pop the cork of your favorite tickle drink
Sipping with you and dipping with you, my angel, there is a link

Between the calm in your pulse and the healing power of my hand
A woman deserves restoration, it is incumbent upon the man

To silence her soul, so vital the goal, all anxieties to be extinguished
The battle armor she need not wear, all disharmony is relinquished

A spontaneous getaway, a wish-we-could-stay, is so good for the psyche
A weekend nurture so I can further all the reasons for you to sigh me

Oohs and aahs will be the sounds you’ll uncontrollably release
The sanctuary of my arms, woman, ends your seek for peace

You deserve this restoration, a moment to revisit the inner self
Relax your body by the stream, I’ll pull the towels from the shelf

We’ll sip and dip at a take-our-time clip, Love, it’s time to play
This is the meaning and you’re the essence of my Pamper-Her-Friday.

___________________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . like a summer’s rendezvous. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®