My girl, the dish

I may be biased here, but from the very instant i first caught a view of my girl, i found her strikingly beautiful. Now, mind you, she looks rather dramatically different today than she did then.

There are many things about that girl that do not appear to the average on-looker (and, brother, let me tell you, on-look they do) like they used to. She no longer has her bangs cut short and uneven (or any bangs at all, for that matter). She no longer possesses jeans, or any other trousers, pantaloons or shorts. Instead of a ring on every finger, she dons only one or two in total. Instead of eyelids, both upper and lower, heavily lined with black pencil, there sits a delicate wedge drawn with liquid eyeliner on the top that extends her already bright eyes up and out. T-shirts do not make up the majority of her daily uniform. And most certainly gone are her incredibly unflattering thick-soled shoes and boots she clumped to her feet to cover up what she thought were her unattractive legs (NOT TRUE AT ALL).

Now, her hair is dyed a deep, ebony black, put into curlers she sleeps in every night before i send her to bed (i don't know how she does this, but she insists she doesn't mind). Every day, she wears either a dress or a skirt, and when the weather permits, stockings and garters (As an aside, we had some friends over, and my girl requested to take off her corset and slip into something more comfortable. Our female guest, upon my girl's return after having changed, remarked incredulously that even her comfort wear was a skirt). Dangling from every finger, having traded in her rings, are 10 beautifully french-manicured, inch-long acrylic nail tips that make her hands longer, more delicate and complement her snow white complexion. Instead of concealing and hiding her gorgeous gams, she has amassed a wonderful collection of heels that she wears (most times) of 3" or higher that showcase the sizzling stems she sashays on.

I've written extensively on my girl's appearance in my personal journals, parsing hundreds of words on each individual feature. I've focused on her lips. On her neck. On her fingers. Her tits. I've pondered through the strokes of my pen her gorgeous cunt, but i think the physical feature that signifies my execution and my resurrection are her eyes.

Her big, brown eyes speak to me of the groundedness that pronounces my girl's very essence. When you look into her shiny peepers, you get an immediate sense of goodness and safety, comfort and beneficence. Often they remind me of the corners of a child's smiling mouth, the depth of movement at the sound of a familiar and needed voice, the promise of a day after a long and difficult night. Her eyes, unlike all these other parts of her physical image, will not change over time, even if their chestnut shade fades with maturity. I look to them for my center and my reflection. And i look to them for the very thing i cannot always find in myself.

Beauty.