Why I like women.

I was in the car thinking, and writing in my head, and it comes out all different here. More rant than prose; more randomness than poem. It's...a thing...

I was talking to Penny the other day, and then Michael last night, and have been having thoughts on my head for a while. About women. Because, I think of them--of you--women--for a while. Constantly. Always. Mainly. Mostly. Often.

So:

I like women. I like everything about you. I like the way you all smell. The sounds of your voices, sweet, and tender like honey on the auditory pallet.

I like the way you feel. The taste of your soft skin on my lips, and the way you give, and stiffen, and melt under a touch here, and there as it wills you. I like the way you feel beneath my hands, and in my arms---so soft, and tender, and yet...

I like the way that women are vunerable, and yet strong; impetuous, and patient. I don't know any other way to describe it, but walking contridictions of wonder.

I like the way your eyes look when you pout, and are far away, thinking about nothing, or something that I just said...the way that you search, that you peer, that you seeth and shoot daggers. Eye contact is magic beyond magic.

I love the touch of your hands in my hands, on my skin, on my face. Pulling, stroking, searching. Your hands pull me in like a mesh of net tossed out into the ocean...I can look at your hands for days--rough, tender, long and thin, nimble and short, stubby, manicured or rough, and bitten back. Fingers intertwined with mine, running over my hair, over my scars, over my chest. Hands and fingers, and simplicity.

I love how you wrap us around your fingers with small smiles over coffee and cake; with looks of concern while standing at the bar; while watching me shave off a beard or changing a tire. I love how you are amazed by our ability to pee standing up, or eat whatever, or just sit and stare.

I'm enthralled by how you eat. How you all chow down when you think we're not looking, or how you just pick at food trying to be cool about it. I'm amazed how you talk with your mouth full, but still manage to be lady like.

I like your ladyness. Your curves, and your stroll. I like how you walk, when you walk away--how you swerve and wiggle, and have the *strut*. I love how you cross your legs at the ankles, or (even better) up high, and show too much thigh and wiggle your ankle as you do. I like how you manage to look good when you think you're mediocre. How you look good when you're feeling skanky.

I love how you look when you sleep.

I like the sound of your giggles when a lame joke is told, or something neat comes up that you really enjoy. I like how you manage to know everything about a place that you've never been before, and hold it over our head how we don't know anything.

You are smarter than me. This makes me feel good. I don't know why.

I love how you make me feel like a man when I'm with you, standing nearby. How you manage to take a feeble, humble guy and elevate him (unwittingly) by your presence alone to strive for something better. Perfect.

I love how you just float there in thought, in wonder, in beauty.

I like women. I just do. I can't explain it, but I love women. You are wonderful creatures that make me stand and stare in awe, don't worry if I stand and stare. You make me do that. I have to stand and watch you being women. I can't make much sense than that.

I had something more in my head, but I've forgotten it now....I'll write later, I think. About women. And me. And being stupid. Or something else. Maybe about women....Yeah. A good subject, I think.

At least until can come up with something better than "I quit my job!"