The Trouble With Greek Gods

In the mirror looking myself over while I clasp the bracelet on my wrist, I hear the doorbell sound. I turn side to side and approve the way my figure looks in this dress. I smooth my hands down my hips, grab my clutch and walk out of the bedroom with my nerves in disarray. This date is a long time coming. As I approach the living room I hear the voice that has the power to render me intellectually inept. As I get closer to it, I feel the change in my body. My body temperature rises causing my vanilla and cocoa butter scented skin to glisten. My core moistens. My breath thins. My walk becomes more feminine, more pronounced, more sensual. My heartbeat accelerates as I finally enter the room. My eyes land on him. Adonis. I have been half in love with this man since our parents made us come in when the streetlights came on. Watching him, I feel simultaneously, centered and disjointed, relaxed and anxious. He is speaking to my body with no action or intention. Rather, his masculinity is stimulating my femininity. In his presence, I am unconsciously and consciously more feminine.

Smiling, he speaks with my sister, who answered the door. I stand in the doorway and ogle him whilst he is unaware. I notice his sun-kissed skin against the white shirt and his full lips that make my body have withdrawals from memories of things those lips have made me feel. I look him over from head to toe before we make eye contact. Everything fades away except the magnificently magnetic and virile man in front of me. He watches as I gather myself and begin to walk toward him, actively reminding myself to put one foot in front of the other until I am in his personal space. Yes, I am standing too close to him. He is a magnet that I cannot resist of my own free will. I am so affected by this man.

His eyes continue to hold me hostage as he looks at me with a smirk. “Hello, Love,” he says. The irony of him calling me love isn’t lost on anyone in the room. His deep, full voice does what it always has and causes me to shiver. The richness of his tone wraps me in contented security as I reach up to hug him. The anticipation of his hug has me damned near panting, “Hey, A.” His strong hands start at my hips and roam around to my lower back in a caress I crave but am not ready to experience. He continues to slowly massage my hips, the top of my behind and my waist as I step into him. Chest to chest. Pelvis to pelvis. Face to face. Eye to eye. This is us. This sensual dance of desire and angst that leaves me both needy and fulfilled is what we do. It has been our story since I discovered desire. As we become intertwined my arms tighten around his neck and I lift my head to his ear where I place a few kisses. I feel his body shiver and my heart takes its leap, excited to see he is affected as well. He holds me tighter, keeping me in place, allowing me to feel his power.

His hands slide up my back and back down to my waist. He nestles his head in the crook where my neck and shoulder meet. He quickly licks. I moan. He lightly sucks. My balance goes. Per usual, he holds me until my legs, again, have bones. When it is clear I can stand, I feel his hands caress their way back to my sides as my hands trail from the back of his head down the sides of his neck onto his chest. I step back. Barely. It's an effort to remove my hands and my eyes from his chest but eventually I'm free of the erotic experience of hugging this chocolate statue from whence Michelangelo tried but failed to model David. Dramatic, I know, but you would be as well if you could see what I see and feel what I feel. It is inescapable, pure chemistry and it is drowning me. I can’t think around him. I feel unintelligent because I cannot form a coherent sentence when he’s near.

We say our goodbyes and make our way to the car. He’s the perfect companion on the way to the club. For our first date, he is taking me to a jazz club with live music. Tonight there will be an open mic poetry contest as well. I’m a ball of nerves because I’m a contestant in that contest and because his cologne is messing with my mind. His smile is messing with my PH balance. We arrive and valet the car. With his hand on my lower back, he escorts me inside. We are seated and quickly place our drink orders, merlot for me and for him, a perfect old fashioned. The conversation flows smoothly as we’ve always had a good rapport. The music is lively and the poetry is sensual and thought provoking. The conversation is better than those combined, reminding me of what first attracted me to Adonis. His inclination for stimulating conversation. Right now he’s stimulating my mind, my body and my spirit. I haven’t felt like a woman who is desirable, interesting and intellectual in so long it’s criminal. His effort has me heady with myself. It’s in the way he pays attention to the detail of my presence. This Adonis is different from the young, cocky guy who hijacked my every emotion. He is solid, secure, safe, exhilarating. I feel safe wrapped in his undivided affection, even though I know I am in danger.

I guess I can admit I always have been. We’ve grown up, matured, flirted and skirted around the elephant that is the fire between us that burns everyone who comes near. I have literally made my dating decisions with the thought that I would one day need to be available to love him how I want. Based on the social experiments with legs I’ve met over the years , at family gatherings, I’d bet I wasn’t the only one. I am ready now. We are ready to explore and experience the soul connection that we were reluctant to ignore but smart enough to wait for. The anxiety of the unknown is missing because I am so sure of this, so sure of us. He knows how I feel about him, though I’ve never verbally revealed as much to him. He reads me so well. He interprets my intentions and vice versa. We recently connected at my favorite bookstore and he made it clear he was ready to pursue building a life with me. He told me he was done waiting and wasting time so we made the decision to give this a chance. This beautiful man wants to love me. He wants to be my love. He wants to court me to earn what he knows has always been his. My heart. I can’t help but stare at him and smile.

Caught up in my musings, I’m taken aback when he stands and offers his hand for me to stand. The room is snapping their fingers and I am confused. “They called your name, Love ” he whispers to me as I stand. I look around nervously as he leads me to the stage and helps me to where I’m going. I watch him make his way back to his seat and then settle his eyes on me. I’d prepared a poem for tonight but as I look at this beautiful man with whom I share so much history, so much chemistry, I realize I have to speak from my soul. For him. To him. In this room full of people, I only see Adonis. I smile a thanks to the audience for the welcome. I briefly close my eyes to gather my thoughts and my courage. Upon opening my eyes, I glance around the room and speak. “Thank you for the welcome. I will be reciting a poem that lives in my soul. It is titled For Adonis. I hope you like it.” His eyes never stray from mine as I begin my confession to him. “I knew he was magic when first my eyes laid on his smile and he has possessed me since with no regard for time or miles…”

I spoke my heart to him while an audience of strangers observed. I saw his body language change. I saw the dampness in his eyes. Better than all of that I saw the pride in his eyes as I poured my soul into the microphone, as I laid out how I feel bout him. I was bold enough to say it and I didn’t care who heard me. The room erupted as much as any room can with finger snaps when I completed my poem. He stood and walked purposefully toward the stage. He was blushing. I had never seen him blush and it was a sight to see. I could see how emotional he was as he pulled me into his arms for another experience, or as most people call it, a hug. I wasn’t prepared this time because I was so exposed, emotionally. I damned near had a breakdown as he held me tightly and whispered to me, “Thank you”. Who knew 2 little words could mean so much. He held my hand on the way back to the table and throughout the rest of the evening. I won the open mic night and was congratulated by some of the neighboring tables and fellow poets. Still, he held my hand. He was pretty quiet for the rest of the evening. He was charming but emotional.

We enjoyed the rest of the night and I even drank 2 glasses of merlot. I knew he had to gather himself, so I just enjoyed his presence. We left after another 2 hours and made our way to his home. We decided to finish our evening at his house because my sister was still at mine and we, clearly, had a lot to discuss. He was so attentive to me the entire night. When we arrived at his home, he sat me on the sofa and went to make us drinks. I sat there, nervously, waiting for him to come back. Now that we were alone I had time to go crazy in my head about what I’d revealed to him. I had time to panic and wonder what he was going to say. Luckily, I didn’t have too much time because he was back with our drinks shortly. I took a sip as he watched me intently. What was going through his mind? After a few minutes he put his drink down, took mine and put it next to his, then grabbed my hands and looked me in the eye. I watched his lips as they moved. I felt his voice as he spoke, saw the intensity in his expression. I zoned out, just taking in his handsome face. That masculine voice had me in a trance and then I heard him. With eyes wide I stared at him and asked, “Wait! What did you say?!” I released his hand and took a sip of my merlot, staring at him in disbelief as he responded, ”You heard me, right”. All I could think was I wish I hadn’t as my heart raced almost out of my chest.