Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image: by lamincode

“A Summer Love Returns”

I guess I’m waxing nostalgic about the 1980s
When the cat with the biggest boombox pulled the most ladies

Reagan and Gorbachev as cold warriors–score one for the “Gipper”
Rap pioneers like L.L. on my radio, making the Hop mo’ Hipper

Bigger the box, louder the beat, and the girls would multiply
I bought mine small for that special one–You–so damn fly

Mixtapes I made, rented house studio, you were my inspiration
Sold a grip from my trunk, tours with you across the nation

On my mind, in my thoughts, you in the Gloria Vanderbilt jeans
My first pair of Jordans, the Carolina blues, so fresh and so clean

My East Coast waves and braided duck tail, with wave brush in tow
The silky pomade I’d let you apply, girl, you just had to know

I was crushin’ on you, put a little rush on you
but kept your reputation intact,
In my room writin’ lyrics in your honor
Damn right, my mack was exact

Neither Blood nor Crip; I was in my Savior’s gang
I knew criminality equaled death–legality was my thang

Our forebears died so that I wouldn’t be rope-tied and court-tried
“Treat the woman right,” pops said, “and you won’t be denied . . . .”

. . . my rightful place in the universe, my rightful place in your heart
You were mine from the beginning, I was yours from the start

That hot summer from the ’80s, I’d sneak a feel on your booty
Double-scoop cones we would share and banana splits so fruity

Ice cream sandwiches and soft-bun manwiches, laughing all the while
I’d sit you on my lap in the park, endless was your smile

We were poor and unaware in our coming-of-age innocence
But quite possibly the best of times in young love—in a sense?

College bound, books per pound, we gained some consciousness
Let my hair grow unabated, identifying with global unrest

Of the darker face of the earth crying out for humanity
Learned emancipation is expensive, freedom certainly not free

You grew even smarter, climbed the charts of corporate America
But true love never found you and I let go of Erica:

You were always there, that firm hold on my mind
Women have come and gone, but none of your kind

My ’80s summer love, damn, I just can’t shake you
We can’t go back . . . or can we? The mixtape remains true

I’ve pulled it out, dusted it off—you’re still the boom in my box
What gains a man without love? All the gold in Fort Knox

Couldn’t buy what we had those many years ago
My hand is still gentle, my touch nice and slow

Come back home, babygirl, your love lives here still
That summer of yesteryear was no temporary thrill

We’ll recapture the rapture, I’m still the boom in your box
Come play in my ‘fro while I fingerdance in your locks

No ordinary summer, the ’80s, it was no fleeting chance
Forever shall remain our summer’s romance.

__________________________

***

Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

(Rated Rg2: For the Goddess)

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My Sweet,

A woman cannot have it all.

Says who?

There simply aren’t enough resources–emotional, monetary, erotic, or otherwise–for a woman to have it all.

Says who?

Likely a woman it was who said such a thing to another woman. What’d you expect? If it was her man who even insinuated such a verbal faux pas, that there are limits to what a woman can have, take my word: She’s dealing with the wrong man.

With a flawed plan.

Apparently he hasn’t heard of Pamper-Her-Friday.

Let me make it clear: Greed, avarice, hegemony, egocentrism–none of these character flaws has ever adorned the truly beautiful woman. None of them wears particularly well on the goddess. Feel?

Having it all is a very subjective thing, a highly intrinsic set of wants and needs, no?

First off, are you in complete comprehension of what your having it all means? Is it still formulating? Does it meta-change with the blowing of the wind? Does it pivot on sight of the latest trend? Is it redefined at each new advertisement?

Last off, how do you know when you have it, that precise moment when your “have it all” has been attained?

Have you ever “had it all” and simply didn’t realize it?

Well, let me ease up on the emotional depth. It’s Friday and I didn’t intend to get philosophical on you, at this beautiful hour, the gateway to a lovely summer weekend.

But let me end my missive with a nugget–nonfiction: A young woman from the most privileged class of her Eastern European society messaged me recently, unsolicited, regarding a Pamper-Her-Friday post she came across on the web. She mentioned she was so intrigued by each story and letter in the series that she’s now reserving an hour every evening, a glass of wine in tow, to read and ponder each creative.

I asked her, “Which number is your favorite?” She replied: “That question is highly unfair.” I liked the woman’s spirit. She went on to summarize her privileged existence–jeweled decadence, yacht parties, at-a-whim travel et al. She ran the accoutrements off without pause.

And then I asked what of it all was most precious to her. She wrote simply, “When he breathes on me.” Both of our device keypads grew silent in the correspondence after that last reply.

She thanked me for my creative endeavors. I thanked her more. She mentioned she anticipates the book and signed off: “Write . . . and breathe on her.”

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love. After we do dinner and the show, we’ll scenic-drive to the pier. I wanna take you in my arms within view of the lighthouse in the distance.

And breathe on you.

Yours,
Rg2

_______________________________________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . . -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

“Breakfast by the Pond”

Morning, Love, would you like coffee or tea with your juice?
I’m feeling summer romance this morning, can I turn it loose?

Fresh waters, fresh air, fresh fruit . . . a fresh kiss
Let’s cue the weekend with a little open-air bliss

Turn your phablet off, I’ll put the Wall St. Journal away
We’ll be selfish with each other, my Love, what do you say?

Take in the oceanscape, exhale the turbulence of the week
Is it true that in every woman lives a quiet freak?

. . . suppressed by convention, imprisoned by womanly virtue
Just put your hands on me, no violation, I certainly won’t sue

I’ll welcome the sensual harassment, may even crave a little more
Let me feed you this papaya and show you that I adore

The soft reflection of sunlight glistening about your skin
I’m so into you, woman, I may contact your next-of-kin

To let ’em know not to worry about your Friday whereabouts
What I have in store for you is what a man-in-love touts:

Romantic breakfast by the pond, a further deepening of our bond
enjoying nature’s breathtaking amenities of which we are so fond

Fruit morsels sweet and tender, I’m admiring your every chew
Your personal feeder consider me as I elevate my woo

A Pamper-Her-Friday poem I wrote, authored from the heart
Ease back and relax as I indulge you in its start:

“How do I pamper thee? Let me count the ways
Ceaseless are my efforts and endless are the days,
Of thoughts of you, having bid adieu to virtueless loves ago
Together we’ll reap the bounty of a higher romance we sow . . .”

With clear-blue waters beneath us and pristine skies above
Let the romance begin
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love

______________________________________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . and forever is her romance. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image: by isus

(For the Ladies, a special pampering)

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Say, Beautiful, I’ve made all the necessary (and unnecessary) arrangements. I’m going in to work today. But you certainly need not.

This is what I want you to do: Invoice me for your day’s salary, commission, sales percentage, overtime, per diem . . . whatever the monetary case may be for what otherwise would be fair compensation for your normal day’s work. Any surcharges, just because, are fine by me.

I got you, Love.

Close the shop. Tell your clients it’s Pamper-Her-Friday and you’re the designated Pamperee.

Shut down the online grid for the day; you’ve got enough followers on the social media; your constant brand promotion can survive a down day; power down the iPad and handset for the remainder of the day.

The kids? I’ve got the sitter arranged and the tickets for LegoLand; they can go lego-crazy–build some inventions, explore their imaginations, water-play all day, ’til their hearts’ content.

Meanwhile, I want you to de-stress, decompress, come out the dress and expose those lovely legs, arms, and shoulders to a little sunsplash and then palm shade . . . by calm waters.

I’ve got a novel I want you to sink your mind into: “Would You Mind Company the Rest of Your Life?”–a romantic heartwrencher and riveter unlike anything you’ve ever literarily experienced.

In the paper today I read that women are now the hardest workers in the global economy, your value–per capita, per family, per household, per small business, per relationship–has now become so vital to the economic landscape as to be incalculable.

It only reinforced what I already knew, especially as it applies to you.

It’s about worth. Not work.

Which is why I honor you today with a whatever-you-want day.

Relax, my sweet. And be ready for more over the weekend.

Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Considerately,
xoxo

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***

Pamper the woman . . . she needs it. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

My Summer Love,

Remember the white linen soirée? Can you believe it was a summer ago that we discovered one another? 

I don’t use the word lightly–discovery. Treasure finds are rare anymore, seems. This open society in which we live, this highly social society of which we’re a part leaves little for serendipity, seems.

Perhaps we could’ve met in a chat. Or on a dating match. I might’ve invited you to the Coffee Klatch for a frappe-over-conversation. Certainly nothing wrong with that.

But there you were, draped in silken ivory flow, the white blossom nestled in your hair, part island girl, part meadow girl, all enchanting woman whom a romance writer would be inspired to create a story around.

And then you spilled your drink on me accidentally. You apologized so earnestly, forgiveness was never a question on my part. Besides, the cranberry hue of your pomtini coordinated well on my white linen shirt, no?

The smile I brokered upon your face spoke to me, whispered to me something I couldn’t quite let go. I didn’t intend to monopolize your time there, but it seemed we talked until a full moon appeared, urging us to continue.

Two more martinis, slow and meticulous our sips, and the mutual laughter came with ease. You found my life interesting; I found yours intriguing, We both solicited a little more about the other–discovery in full bloom. Under full moon.

Remember when I asked about love as imagery? If your ideal love were a house, what would it be and where would it exist? You replied, “a quaint country cottage by the lake . . . green, low-carbon, solar, eco-sustaining, surrounded by fruit trees and a vegetable garden.”

Impressed I was.

“If your ideal love were a vehicle, what?”

You didn’t hesitate, “Ford Fusion hybrid.”

Wow, I thought to myself. “Are you really that practical?”

You took a sip of the pomtini and cracked, “OK, maybe an Aston Martin DB9 coupe.”

We both burst in laughter. Practicality has its limits after all, right?

And then, out of the blue, you asked me if I loved and respected both my mother and father–your eyes glistening in the moonglow yet piercing with a sharp curiosity, all laughter aside. You meant the question.

I pulled out the vintage photo of my parents on their wedding day in ’65. I found myself staring at it, much more than you, without words. Something in you understood.

And then I asked for your hand in a dance . . . to make up for the spilled drink.
It was summer magic under the stars.

Remember that night? The white linen soirée of a summer to remember.

Well, I figured our romance theme for this summer should be “impracticality, within reason.”

I’ve recreated the soirée but only you and I are the guests this time around. Meet me by the pool, I’ve got a little something of a surprise for you to go along with our lake cottage, babygirl.

Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Ever yours,
Rg2

________________________________________________

***

Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

image: by bigboss007

“It’s You, Love”

I sense something in the air
. . . something sensual is in the air,
Is that your fragrance once bottled?
Blow a kiss across the ocean, woman–a pair:

One for each dimple on either side of my face
Character marks you remember from grade school,
My e-notes printed in ink you shan’t erase
You in a summer floral wrap–I won’t drool . . .

. . . until after dusk, moon high, palm fronds
swaying to the rhythms of night winds,
Can I bathe you? . . . I found us a secret pond
One limb at a time’s how I do it–two gins

Poured slowly, chased with hints of coconut sweet
I’ll dip your fingers in my glass,
I’m the master of the slow-motion nibble
Now hang on while I rotate the ass

Palm-cupped underwater, it may get a bit hotter
Aquatic intimacy has no equal,
No, I’m nothing of a globe love-trotter
But summer’s our season–it’s time for the sequel

It’s you; yes, woman, it’s you
You had no business being so lovely,
You’re not one to emote on demand, it’s true
But fair warning: Wait ’til I rub thee

There’s a right and a wrong way to touch a woman
There’s an art to timing her ripe,
Your eyes give permission to clutch you, woman
Those tears of summer joy I’ll wipe

Away and away and away we’ll go
venturing to the ends of the shore,
Making jealous the waves as they rustle and flow
and footprints a little deeper than before

You want it with me? Well, come and get me
But hurry, love, El Niño’s on its way,
Tropical rains nonstop like a fable Aesop
won’t keep our summer love at bay

It’s you . . . woman, it’s you
to whom my innermost intimacies belong,
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday on the eve of summer
You’ve got me singing a brand new song . . .

It’s You.

____________________________________________________________

***

Pamper the woman . . . like a summer never ending. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

On Vocals: The Irrepressible Kem

“Jacuzzi Night”

Did you miss me last Friday . . .
Which part of your anatomy missed me most?
Did you visualize my hands on ya, an array . . .
Yeah, I’ve earned the right to boast

Those times I cuddled you, huddled over you
Alas, woman, you can’t forget,
I reinvented the art of pampering
And I’m just willing to bet

That mind migration you helplessly engaged
so uncontrollable your erotic thoughts,
The chocolate wine so gently aged
The romantically written forget-me-nots

It’s my time to write, make you the subject I might
give it all I have–are you worthy of that?
I need you to grant me this Friday night
I’m feeling like Hank Aaron at the bat . . .

Confident and strong–I refuse to lose
You may wanna keep record of my romance stats,
Orgasms galore, gluteal massages so pure
Lathering your kinky mane, and gentle body pats

Each foot entoweled–toes, elbows to earlobes
I’m taking all bodily requests,
soft spinal taps and hidden treasure probes
I’m passing all your anatomical tests

It’s my time to soar, it’s your time to roar
It’s our time to unleash on one another,
You atop my chest after a second wine pour
Inch up, Love, but careful, don’t smother

Oxygen is so vital to my pampering operation
And you need me at optimum function,
We’ll make tonight a romantic marathon
I’m feeling excessively naughty, no compunction

You see, a woman just wants to let go . . .
To hell with Monday-through-Thursday restraint,
But safety and security she needs to know
No worries, Love, a one-nighter this ain’t

I love familiarity, damn, I’m territorial
My affections grow better with age,
A woman wants to be held since time immemorial
My love letters feature your name on each page

Intro: You; Body: You; Conclusion: You
My sole subject, but enough with the writing,
It’s time to board the lovers yaht
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday and I’m inviting

You, it’s true, just us two aboardship
A jacuzzi night set sail on the mid-seas,
We’re gonna rock the boat–I won’t let it tip
On water . . . and hands and knees

It’s jacuzzi night, Love . . . .

____________________________________________

***

It’s time . . . to pamper the woman. -Rg2

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

The Evocative Patrina Morris, Singer, Songwriter, Guitarist; photo credit: Alan Beukers

“The Patina of Patrina”

Every once in awhile a music artist emerges from time’s benevolence to remind us of the elemental life treasures we take for granted. Water to cleanse and replenish. Oxygen to revitalize. And the fragile harmony that lives within each of us, begging to restore internal balance but constantly challenged by fears and chaos.

Somewhere between the shore’s majestic edge, a tropical rainforest’s lush natural foliage, and a setting sun’s sherbert sky is the element that is Patrina Morris.

Singer, songwriter, guitarist and animal lover, the India-born Ms. Morris, of Anglo-Indian heritage, pairs her vocal instrument with her string instrument to render a rich, soothing blend of Bossa/Brazilian rhythms and vibes, ‘70s folk, and timeless jazz—with love, truth, whim and wonderment at the heart of it all.

A former model who’s graced the pages of the Italian and German editions of Vogue, Elle, and Marie Claire magazines, Patrina’s front-of-the-lens work served only to scratch her artistic surface, in fact masking the passions that lay beneath, begging for expression. “I had to stop [modeling] for people to take me seriously in the music business,” Morris recalls. “I’ve spent many years learning my craft and working with amazing people from all genres along the way. I’m still learning and, for sure, I would have found my home in music regardless . . . modeling just gave me the strength and courage to try and fulfill my dreams.”

Discovered on myspace.com a few years ago, Ms. Morris has since released three EPs: “Stories I never told you”; “Lies Fall Away”; and “Even in the End” have all met critical acclaim and are as easy on the ear and nourishing to the soul as any music ever gifted to a rapt audience. Her fourth EP, as yet untitled, is set for release later this year.

Tell me a fun secret about yourself, I asked, something few if anyone knows about the Portugal-based chanteuse whose music is part elixir, part tonic, with nostalgic beach samba-like, come-hither elements that cannot be resisted: “I talk to myself and my ‘furries,’ my dog and kitten kats [sic] all day long . . . kinda like therapy—for what, I have no idea,” she laughs.

Funny she’d use that particular word, therapy. For that is undoubtedly the patina that is Patrina Morris’ artistic work. Therapy each time one hears her gentle vocals.

It’s my privilege, Patrina, to honor you as this Pamper-Her-Friday’s Pamperee for your distinctive vocal and songwriting works and contributions to the music arts. Your therapy is life enhancement.

Connect with Patrina:
Web: www.patrinamorris.com
Music: https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/patrina-morris/id309936848
http://www.reverbnation.com/patrinamorris?profile_view_source=header_icon_nav
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%253Dpopular&field-keywords=patrina+morris
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/patrina.morris
Myspace: https://myspace.com/patrinamorris
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Patrinamorris
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/patrinamorris1/pins/

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***
“I am, honestly, equally fulfilled in both . . . perhaps the performing is a little more exciting sometimes as you get to see in reality what your songs mean to others and how you do or can affect their lives with music . . . such joy to see the smiles!” -Patrina Morris

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

 video shot and directed by Alan Beukers
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC1MtAdf8U0&feature=share&list=UUkLPS5OnbY8geevgt0dpXyA&index=1

image: by anglas

Dear ___________,

I had no idea what I was gonna do with my life.

I’ve never shared this with anyone, but as I got closer to graduating, I became less and less sure and secure about what it was I was gonna do afterward. I had no idea.

I couldn’t articulate that to anyone then. I know that on the surface, to someone else looking at me from a distance, it’s logical to graduate and get a good job, marry, start a family and live. And truthfully, I had those aspirations in my heart and mind, like most other people–it’s the arc, the full circle of life as we know it.

I still harbor those feelings, those wants, and dreams. But, even then, as a much younger guy with no real-world experience in both life and career, and so little to offer to a woman but a “promise,” I knew I would have to put off those aspirations for awhile, for such awhile that I didn’t truly know or have a firm idea when or at what point in my life that I would eventually settle down.

I truly felt there was something in me that was different or distinct and was building and festering and forming, but what it was or the form it would take I had no idea. I didn’t want to marry, start a family and embrace the responsibilities of those monumental steps when I was so disenchanted inside, not nearly whole inside, not truly “ready” as a “man in full” to be the man that you so richly deserved, that your family truly deserved me to be.

I loved your family, God knows. You had, have, both your parents who love you dearly. I saw that right away and didn’t take that for granted. They are special people. Very special. I realized that in order for me to be able to look into your father’s eyes man to man and have him respect me and bless me with you, I would have to step up, without equivocation, without any reluctance, with a firmness and readiness that he would understand, embrace and respect.

That’s what I wanted to be able to give to you and them. And you definitely–by far!–deserved that. But I also knew that I wanted a career, a life work, that I would be fulfilled and happy in, so that I could be in position to bring that happiness and fulfillment home, not bitterness or resentment or disenchantment from having life dictate its terms to me based on decisions I had made out of circumstance.

I had no idea I would be an entrepreneur. Even what you see now with regard to my work is the result of the life I’ve lived–both real and imagined/created–up to this point. The many mistakes I’ve made, the many disappointments I’ve been dealt, the defeats and hurts . . . they’re now coming to the fore in the form you see. But even that is out of necessity.

Out of desperation.

This is the final push for me, an attempt at entrepreneurship because it’s what my heart and soul burn for–and I’ve tried and failed at nearly everything else. I’ve never married nor had kids because I just haven’t made time for that part of my life to develop. I wouldn’t have been good for you then and the subsequent years thereafter; I wasn’t whole.

My decision to go away without closure, to go away period, certainly wasn’t you or anything you’d done. You frankly are a precious jewel–always. You were the most precious and tender and lovely woman that’s graced my life. I saw some of the more recent photos–I swear, you are even more beautiful now as then. Your babies are the image of you: smart, respectful, handsome, beautiful and kind. You are blessed. Beyond.

I’m still finding my way. My work is not done. In many respects, I think I’ve made my work my life, good or bad, you know?

I feel I don’t have a right to ask for your forgiveness. You’ve gone on, we’ve gone on. And you’ve been blessed with a beautiful family. He’s fortunate.

God has kept you. As I prayed he would.

I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Forgive me the hurt and my transgression.

I hope.

Tenderly,
Rg2

__________________________________________

***

Regret. Redemption. Romance.

© 2014 Romance by Rg2®

image: © tamila

(Rated Rg2: Mature Readers Only)

 
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My Love,

My grandfather said it’s the little things.

The seemingly inconsequential things.

They add up to a love affair that buries itself in the safe rooms of the mind, in the marrow of the bones, in the chambers of the heart.

When his first marriage ended in divorce, he mentioned that he’d retraced his steps. Re-lived his actions. Replayed his words. To her.

Once the anger, which is simply code for hurt, subsided, he was then able to reckon with, to admit his missteps. Clarity had surfaced and the veneer of resentment fell away into the ether of time.

I asked him, ‘If you could do it over, what would you do differently to salvage what it was that brought you two together from the get?’

After a moment of silent reflection, a deeper introspection, he replied, “I would have written down my feelings and read them aloud to her.”

He had me enthralled by the last of his words, ” . .. read them aloud to her.” As if her simply reading them on paper, alone, wouldn’t have conveyed the intended effect, I thought to myself, and asked him.

“She can read them from the page and, sure enough, if the words are sincere, she’ll be affected,” he explained. “Hearing them from the author, she gets the added dimension, she takes in his body language, the inflections of the voice, the sincerity of the recital. She’s an audience of one. A woman loves that. Forever.”

I had never heard anyone sum it up as such–let alone a man secure enough in himself to reveal as much.

My grandfather died soon after that conversation. A part of me died with him, so close we were.

But a much greater part of me has lived. Flourished even.

He was imperfect, my grandfather. I, probably even more.

But that’s no excuse to falter, to not live up to what God has given me, given us both. This specialness we share.

Which is why I wrote down my feelings and my thoughts of you. Of us. I even went to the effort of printing up in book form what I want to say to you.

Now, if you’d come away with me, just you and me, I know of a patch of virgin grass next to an old, mighty oak that offers the perfect getaway.

There’re some things I want to say to you. I want to reveal to you. I’d very much like to express to you . . . for tomorrow is not promised to us.

I want to read to you, my lady. Your ears and your heart alone.

Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

Truly,
Rg2

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***

Pamper the woman . . . with the little things. -Herbert Brooks

© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®