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04-12-2020 06:13 pdt

An older essay from the days thought to be the beginning of this foray is the subject of the second nonfiction entry of the new year. This short story has been on the back burner since the outset of the .NET transition in 2012, and was likely originally written between 2004 and 2007. There are others, and hopefully they will creep in here from time to time. That is not up to the staff.

Also, the estimated read time and word count (which is not always accurate, by the way) have been added at the request of the owner. They are just below each title and on most entries. The title position and method of separation from this text have been simplified. As always, the focus is not upon frills, but content. Read on.



Another Her

read ( words)

"She was just across the room, but also a world away. A world unlike ours. Some gigantic, misshapen, and toilsome world across which I was unable to travel. She was right there. Right fucking there. Damn.

Gazing, watching, and even leering were not enough. I longed to stare without restriction and without the need for modesty. I even needed it. Sitting unable to look to my heart's content had become painful and forced me to feel distraught. The feeling was such that the remainder of the world simply melted away from my mind and the only saving throw versus reality was the vision of her. Such a vision as I had never seen. The need had consumed me entirely and without reservation. The need became all that mattered in the world. The need to look and admire, to watch and be amazed, to appreciate beyond all forms of appreciation. I wanted and needed to see her from every angle and in every position. I wanted to see her form change and adjust to the needs of her duties. From walking to standing to leaning to bending, I longed to gaze and measure. Her form was beyond comprehension and I felt as if without seeing every conceivable number pushed to its limit I would certainly faint. She had the numbers all over her like labels calling for me to read every figure and every reference. Comparisons, angles, tapers, symmetries, and every possible combination of arms, thighs, feet, waist, hips, shoulders, neck, and breasts flew through my head like diagrams to my very existence. I looked and searched and tried to find something out of order, something that did not fit or just would not match but there was nothing. She had slipped through time and space to arrive on a pedestal to which there is no thorough description. A pedestal against which to ram my head over and over from the lack of purpose and the feeling that I am bereft of the words required to do her justice.

I had to return again.



425

Dimensional Passion



Upon visiting the restaurant a second time, I was able to study for a longer period because of the atmosphere. Plus, my vantage point as seated at the bar was such that I was able to gaze at her as she moved around the room. This was wonderful. The car wash encounter was only a short one, but this opportunity became lengthy. We were there for nearly an hour and during that time I admired her carrying out various activities all around the restaurant.

Tall, slender, and slightly exaggerated at the hips and chest made her stand out in the room. The ratio of her hips to her waist was astounding. She had a very narrow waist which forced her hips to appear larger than average in comparison. Honestly, I would have guessed her to be an astonishing 0.6:1 as a result of those fantastic features. I could not keep my eyes away for more than a few seconds. My God, she was amazing to put it mildly. On two occasions she ventured to the pickup window for the kitchen and bent forward slightly to reach across the counter. This action proceeded to force the thigh sections of her pants to snug a bit and provided a clearer picture of her shape. The jeans fit well enough without this, but I do know that a true representation of a woman's shape is just not possible unless her garment is skin-tight. The view afforded me by her motions was enough to fog my mind completely. Just as seeing a woman seated with her knees paired, I was able to spy her thigh shape and length. Again, these were amazing. There have been a few occasions when I viewed a woman as reclined with her knees up and together. In such a position, the gap disparity between the upper and lower thighs is displayed beautifully. That curve is one of the most dynamic and attractive aspects of the female form and is nonexistent on males. From the rear, this curve becomes compound as it starts to near the oval gap at the extreme top of the thighs. Because of the thigh taper, the distance approaches zero following the inward curve as it rises, and there is then a point at which the space widens again just before the lower pelvis. That small change is incredible, to put it mildly. Of course, this is something that remains unseen while a woman is clothed. Too bad? Perhaps. The way it should be? Yes. The area in question is becoming far too intimate to be on display.

I type these words and they are nowhere near enough. I cannot get across the sight of the art in that room. Art beyond words and beyond the ability to rationalize and explain. Art beyond everything. The thought of her even weeks later is painful. I have missed out. I have missed seeing more of her. I have missed being near such beauty and mathematical harmony. I have missed the possibility of connecting with one of the most beautiful examples of the female form I have ever seen. The very idea of my future is now dim. There is just 'her' and my own mind. Just 'her' and my own thoughts.

Soon, I fear, there will be just her."



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