I didn’t understand people’s excitement of seeing a man until the unexpected moment I laid eyes on him for the first time. As he walked in the pathway, I gazed upon the beauty of his.
He walks like a runway model on a high fashion event. His face mimics the grace of that of an angel. His dark hazel nut eyes were not big, not small or chinito, they were perfectly in the middle of those qualities. His eyes are usually perched by a pair of glasses he needs to see the world a little more brighter than he already does. He’s the type who doesn’t need to tell you how he feels because it’s written all over his eyes. His eyelashes were long, complimenting the shape of his eyes. His nose is pointy and his lips were lusciously pink. His lips curl when he smiles. And when he smiles, which is often, his white teeth brightens up one’s day like the glorious sun does to the buds of roses. He had a shapely figure thats build is lanky as he towers over me and I have to strain my neck to look rigt up at his face. His toned abdomins finished off his stomache just nicely. The some-what hairy parts traced down his belly button to his v-line, though he doesn’t believe how nicely it fit him. His pitch dark black hair is pushed back off his face. Its clean cut swoops across his forehead complimenting his whole face. I could get lost in his hazel nut brown eyes that are bordered by long eyelashes that touch the tip top of his eye lid. He had slender eyebrows that are quite bushy and meet at the middle. His slightly arched dark eyebrows highlight his emotions by moving up and down as he reacts to his world around him. His sun kissed complexion is sprinkled by a few moles that he doesn’t quite talk about. His shoulders are rather broad and has ‘muscley’ toned arms that he is very proud of. He has the needed meat of a man – the ass – the genes of a typical Arab. The melody of his voice is better than any music. His deep rusky voice has a certain tone that sends shivers down one’s body.
He is usually dressed in cotton shorts, the typical nike sneakers and a v-neck shirt or polo, buttoned high enough to catch a generous eyeful of his well-maintained torso and hide the countless freckles that splatter his chest. His arms are usually weighed down by a bracelet that holds a lot of meaning, though I never asked what. He is as dorky as he is dreamy. My man’s personality has to be somewhat complex. He must be more reserved than I am. I do a lot of talking, I guess you could say he is more of a listener although his southern boy drawl is like a sweet lullaby to my ears. He keeps a humble presence about himself. His emotions are rather guarded. He thinks logically. He has his shortcomings. Sometimes he is absent minded and stubborn, but most of the time, for the good reasons which I frankly choose to ignore myself. You won’t know what he’s thinking unless you’re in his mind, he’s the type who would leave you going to bed every night, terrified of losing him. He has the courage to do what’s right in tough situations and has the loyalty to his friends and loved ones. He is not at all romantic, but has a way with girls.
He has eyes that see the best, a heart that forgives the worst, a mind that forgets the bad, and a soul that never loses faith. He is clothed with strength and dignity and laughs without fear of the future. And in that moment, I knew excitement.
He was my first.