A Woman's Form

This earth is filled to overflowing with creations that inspire awe, in whom, complexities not yet fully understood delight our senses and create within us a pride of being human. But none are as visually stimulating as the raw form of a woman.

Those sumptuous curves that make the greatest achievements in art's long history don dunce caps. The manner in which her lines develop into shapes unimaginable. So captivating, so intoxicating, her glance is truly hypnotic. Her lips come together and breathe fumes and gases that have yet to be discovered. Her gentle saunter has the power of a thousand plow horses, able to halt the very flow of a busy intersection and to forcibly twist the necks of her admirers. This is the gem we call Woman.

I must begin by stating the obvious, that strength is relative and specific. And that users of it are deliberately deceitful. Men have a physical strength that women can only dream of, while the latter have an aura that men can only dream to enjoy. Theirs is an intense energy that we long for, yet can never fully comprehend.

I would have to say that a woman's face is the most intriguing element of her beauty. A slight bit narrower than ours and smaller on the whole but, biologically at least, not incredibly dissimilar from ours. Yet those few minor distinctions speak volumes about what separates the sexes.

The way her hair gets tossed about by gusts of wind. How her nose turns upward by just the right degree, her skin so soft with a satin feel and a natural fragrance without rival. Her lips part and her luscious tongue slides to and fro, moistening with a wetness water will never have.

And how her shapely chin turns into a neck and shoulders that round out with tones and an indescribable sheen. Then comes her breasts, capable of intoxicating even the heartiest of drinkers. They hop and skip about with an enthusiasm known only to children who've yet to be bogged down with anxieties of adulthood. They seem to be free and complete and unaware, yet plead for companionship and a fondling love. At their centers, the areolas cry out for the touch of a finger or willing lips or both. And the very nipples themselves stand at attention. Firm, yet pliable. Soft, warm. Magnificant!

From there her waist takes on the form of an hourglass. Then past her naval, a tuft of velvet greets the eye. Its curls so tight and unending, they pave the way for better things to come. The first thing you would notice is the indention in her pubic region, which then protrudes as a cover for a delectable nub. It hides in safety until the realization of pleasures abound and it peeks out into the light to be seen and admired. Her natural juices are now flowing and the area becomes moist and a new and alluring aroma is discovered. Her outer folds cannot contain the inner any longer and they give way, rupturing as the labia minor, engorged with the blood of lust, open the doors to the caverns of her inner sanctum. The canal is deep and dark and mysterious, conjuring all its powers to magnetize its mate with a force so strong and uncompromising that very civilizations have been led by its magnificent pull. Its needs will not go unfulfilled, nor its waters uncharted. It cries out to be explored and conquered. Again and again.

And just past the gates of this abiding inner courtyard is the most tender, butter-soft half inch of delectable skin on her body. Its taste indescribable, its texture that of the inside of banana peel. Slithery and inviting, sincerely encouraging further inspection.

And finally her ass. I say ass because buttocks doesn't seem to properly portray the inspiration involved in delving into it. The term “buttocks” cannot possibly capture its sheer stylishness and grace. Neither does backside, hind-quarters, or rump. As far as anatomy goes, the ungodly form and curvature of a woman's ass is unequaled. It stands as the greatest shape known to man and will always hold this dear spot in our hearts. The mere passing by of one of these is an experience that best belongs in the annals of philosophical musings of religion and world-renowned art. It produces in us a relentless drive to achieve contact with its surface, to hold for even one second its priceless mass.

In conclusion, I must admit that a woman's form has powers that transcend sexual boundaries. A woman looks good even to other women. And not to say that all women are sexually attracted to one another; a subject best left for a dedicated paper of its own. It's simply that the female construct, both emotionally and physically, is so alluring, so majestically appealing that they themselves can be caught unawares of its dominance, abruptly and without warning, losing themselves to its lustful force.

Women hold within them a strength that is unattainable to men, a force that defies mathematical logic. They should cherish that strength and use it as we use our own physical, muscle-based clout to our benefit. But the fact still remains that a woman's body is a sight to behold. I, for one, am still that jovial little school boy every time a beautiful woman passes me by. My insides are still twisted into a deviling knot and my breath is taken from me. Willingly I yield to her spell.

Finally I would like to state for the record, that a woman's form is without parallel in nature, in our world, even in the massive expanse we call the universe, and I still am privileged to witness its mystical, mind-bending powers on me...