Is it excessive to ask a man to create the scenery for a woman providing her a passage to explore her desires? Is it beyond the boundaries to have him introduce a landscape that pierces her imagination and allows her to discover her thirst for indulgence? A man who lacks the ability to open the door to her sensual nature has no place being in her company. He needs to create a world for her that she feels but doesn't yet recognize. He needs to be her vision and he needs to do so in words, gestures and subtleties. It's his task to find the other word that means sweeter than sweet and softer than soft.

How can a man crave the desire to intrude on a woman without first having the desire to penetrate her heart and soul? How does a man consider himself passionate if he cannot taste her essence? What right does he have to pursue her embrace without first recognizing those things she covets the most? This is the art of true romance... a love affair. This is what lends its beauty and is reserved for a woman who doesn't fear her longing for a deeper warmth... nor a man who lacks the emotion and sensitivity to offer it.

If her desire at the moment is to pause and contemplate... let her. If she wishes to stand her ground on a topic... admire her. If she chooses to be glum in one breath and spirited in another... acknowledge her. And if she decides that she wants to experience a certain caliber of a man behind closed doors, then he needs to understand the significance of the gift that is a beauty and elegance distinctively hers.

When I close my eyes I can see her laying there... smooth curvatures of her body... her skin wrapped in alabastrine satin. How can any man recklessly take for granted the purest pleasure of a woman's existence at this level? How does a man move in haste when offered this rarity? This incredible meld of art and physics that churns through my mind deserves to be savored like an epicurean feast. I want to examine her.... like a masterpiece and feel the intoxication each time I grasp a faint scent of her perfume. I want to slowly run my finger over the brim of her ear... wondering if roman sculptors see what I see... feel what I feel. I want to explore every beauty mark on her body and imagine one after another freshly painted by the hands of an artisan.... details on fine porcelain... still wet to the touch... so that I can gently blow on each before consuming with my lips.... thus, moving to the next, just to repeat again.

I want to spread her hair across the pillow and marvel while each caramel strand filters through my fingers... pretending she is a princess and I am her valet. I want to take each one of her fingers and caress them individually... devour them separately... sending fyre through her veins. I want to study her hands and wonder how many keys of a piano she's touched or how many ornaments she's crafted. I want to sense my amazement when the heat from her sensuality warms my lips as they glide the length of her body. I want to straddle her.... restrain her playfully... touch my lips to hers slightly... without motion... until I feel her nails dig into me demanding more. I want to know what she feels before I give her what she desires!

She wonders if passion is gone... if it has a pulse strictly in the pages of a novel or can it exist for real. If his words alone move her, then has he not already made love to her? And if he expects nothing in return other than to see the pleasure in her eyes, has he not received a gift from her just as priceless? ;)