As I'm writing, he's looking up up at me: Deep brown eyes that scream something that must be completely fabricated from my imagination, cause I truly know this man intimately just from reading a few pages of the Vanity Fair article.
Yeah, he's also on the cover.
And unless he was prompted to "Give me sex. Give me smoldering. Give me lust!" Perhaps the gent appears this way naturally in the everyday. Wakes up this way. Brushes his teeth this way. Puts on his socks this way. It's possible...
Probably not.
My eyes can't help but wander ever-so-All the Time! The Vanity Fair cover beckons me. A magazine I picked up off the side walk amidst a sign which read - FREE STUFF. Out of natural curiosity my friend and I pillaged through the goods. My friend nose deep in kitchen ware, while I stuck to the magazines. And there he was - Johnny D, smoldering, manly (cause manly is so hard to find these days. I'm dead serious) and hunky. Mind you I'm not some Jack Sparrow tramp. Never think of the man twice within five minutes. But something about this particular cover lured me, called to me "take me home...forever." So I listened, as any healthy, normal woman would. Perhaps it was a mid-cycle moment of weakness...Nah, it's just a hot cover.
So my friend and I walked, Johnny D secure under my arm. The rag sat next to me and my friend at the local beach cafe. He was the silent third company, and he was very acknowledged by the many women who walked by. A sudden gasp (I kid you not) would follow, as women stopped for a moment, dropping comments, their skin growing hot and flush. Their imaginations most probably drifting off to that place. We dare not go to that place, at least in public. One femme even stopped mid-way while in conversation with her gentleman caller, held in Johnny Ds gaze (it was crazy, I share no lies). If a man could find a simple magazine to be the object of his envy, it was this magazine. I laughed on the inside, which quickly turned to sadness...I would hate to feel what that man was feeling.
Who can compete with dear Johnny D? Not many. Who can steal a heart without so much as a word, but only give a glance taken within a frame? Not many. Who can cause me to write when I should be asleep, sleep that is essential to me. Not many.
so she sighs...
It's just a magazine.
