The Perfect Man


      He is perfection. He knows exactly what to do, and when to do it. He is not afraid to make demands, and never refuses my own. He is rarely angry.If he is angry, he is mature in his expression of it. When he is puzzled by my behavior, he wants to talk. Furthermore, when he sees that I am upset, he asks gently, "What's wrong?" and does not take "nothing" for an answer- for he sees right through me. He can do this because he genuinely pays attention. That's all it takes. He can tell if I really don't want to talk about it, and gives me space.
He is always clean; with or without cologne he smells like heaven. He is like this because it is just a part of his personality, to be clean. When I put my face upon his chest, I breathe deeply and end up dizzy. His sweat is my ultimate aphrodisiac.
I can see, even if he does not speak the words, how he admires my beauty. In his arms, I could very well be the most beautiful woman on earth. What's more, he verbally expresses this- that I am lovely and sexy, that I drive him crazy. He understands that, in the heart of many women (especially myself) there exists the need to be physically validated. He does
not do this consiously- he instinctively understands that, by giving me self-confidence, I will be more secure; therefore, when he wants to do something which does not include me (watching tv, playing computer games, hanging with his buddies), I will not question
him. I will not accuse him of inattention or insensitivity towards me.

      His sexual attitude is varied and flexible, so I will not grow bored.  He gentle kisses can suddenly become bites- just enough to cause slight pain, not enough to cause distress. He can give a kiss as light as a feather while simultaneously pulling my hair with a controlled roughness that I find maddening. He knows that I do, because he makes a point of inquiring what turns me on. More importantly, he picks up on what I do NOT say; once again, he simply pays attention, and remembers what made me gasp. He does not forget, and
does these things often enough to make me dream about it, but not so often that I get tired of it. He does these things because he cares about whether or not I enjoy his touch. He knows that the more you give, the more you get. He always puts me first in bed, for he
understands a simple truth- women take longer to satisfy, and require more attention. If, by chance, it is over before I reach my climax, I can deal with this simple frustration- for I have been given no reason to doubt his dedication to my pleasure.

      His eyes are intense, and they always seek my own. Even if he is pounding away at me, he often looks down, directly into my eyes. There in his eyes I see the most exquisite mixture of lust and love. In this way he shows that he has not forgotten that I am there, I am present in the most sacred way a woman can exist with a man. Moreover, he does not allow my body
to become a separate object, joined only sexually- he kisses me, holds me, presses the entire length of his body upon me. I do not become a table for him to rest upon. I am there.

       Never does he roll over quietly after love. No. He wraps himself around me, expresses his feelings for me. While he does this, he continues to caress me- for he knows that just because sex is over for now, it is not necessarily over for later. In this way he keeps me in a constant state of arousal, and I will not refuse should he need my body in the wee hours of the
night. When he says, "I need to have you" I am full of joy, and I give fully of myself, for he deserves nothing less. I am continually at his mercy, and he knows it. However, he does not take advantage of my weakness for him.

      Because of all these reasons, and more, I belong to this man- body and soul. I would do anything he asked, blindly and full of trust. Why? Because he would never ask for what I could not or would not want to give. He would never deny me that which I need. He
makes himself worthy of all my devotion. I do his bidding, but I do not need a leather collar, a spanking, or role-play to make me thus.I am this way, naturally, because i am full of respect for him.I belong to him, but I am not his toy or his posession... toys and other possesions are often mishandled and broken. He is the definition of "man", and with him I am the definiton of "woman". I know this is a tad old-fashioned, but... this is my perfect man.

     Yes, he does exist.