Feminina

August 12, 2019

I don’t think I am yet at the point where I create content that appeals to the masses but in this moment I don’t really care all that much.

Writing is still something I do for fun and the mentality shift from fun to hustle is a slow but steady transition. Anyways, I asked for recommendations for what I should write on in future posts on this blog and was given many to choose from. I thank the participants for easing this process, truly.

This post is derived from my own appreciation of the female form. As a woman myself, I know it well enough from my vantage point. Even so, the woman is a mystery to me and the privilege I have to dive deep into the psyches of so many brings forth a rather expansive and colorful perspective on the femme persona. 

I once wrote online for fun. The community I wrote with still consists largely of people I consider friends. Consider these next few paragraphs an homage to those times when we were writing sultry fiction back and forth to one another. For any other wandering eye, enjoy. What follows is a blend of both my appreciations into one thing.

Feminina. She stands with both elbows perched against a countertop, a fine sculpture balancing a cocktail glass in one hand. Though she tries not, she oozes an ethereality about her as she weighs the liquid dynamite and watches its surface lick every point of contact between itself and its containment. She tests the drink with a sip, graduates to a pull. Eyes watch in awe of the smooth muscle that moves like water beneath her throat. A witch amongst them all.

Her hair is pulled back tight into an overpowering show of freedom at the nape of the neck. Locks of brown explode from one elastic band, falling down into a tapered point at the crux between her shoulders. The skin it brushes is bare.

She moves from where she stands, elbow crooked to float her glass at shoulder level. Her body swims through the masses, fluid as it anticipates and relents to the surroundings about it. Do they wonder how she steps into those lines of movement without faltering? No, they watch in awe, starstruck.

This is she. Mighty in her own mind. That enough is captivating as is. She sits so far above the rest that wandering eyes fail to alert her for she cannot see. No one approaches lest they dare to be reckoned with. Everyone wishes for the chance–if even for a fleeting moment. 

A spot is found and she fills it with her presence. Sitting amongst them, she breaks into a smile. A favorite song fills her ears, makes her tap along. The joy is a contagious one and soon everyone feels the same sort of sentiment within them. They look to one another, inspired by this stranger’s own memory. 

How divine.

Feminine lingers, dormant in the rest. But one glance at an awakened form can stir those that lie in wait. The energy is of an irresistible kind.

The energy is that of nature itself. It exists to be relished in for as long as the hearts that carry it are beating. For as long as women inhabit this earth.

Bisous