She had to admit it. It was lust. Full on, dirty minded, impure lust. And she couldn't seem to help it. She wanted to remain objective and logical in all things, but her mind always seemed to wander when it came to one subject. Him.
Her friends had mixed opinions about his level of attractiveness, but to her, he was the image the ancient Greeks and Romans sought in their attempts to carve a divine figure. He was Adonis himself. The cool porcelain tint to his body only brought his image closer to the visages carved in marble. Neither fierce definition nor flabby excess marred the vision of masculine beauty he presented.
The talent in her that was tempered for words, for an instant, longed for mastery of the line. The curve. The alternatingly soft and strong representations of reality that made him so attractive to her eye. Never would her aching fingertips trace the heaven-made lines of his body, and so she settled for the somewhat vague impressions buried deep within her mind.
But what tantalized her fantasies, and coaxed her imagination into a flurry of creativity was the thought of that which was beyond possible. A true mixing of beauty and the beast. The artful elegance he brought to the picture could only be insulted to the lumpy and garbled image she presented, even at her best. His god-like curves stood in stark contrast to her grotesque lumps and assorted deformations.
And yet, she dreamed. Dreamed of whispered passions and lustful sighs. She hoped for dreams come true and a truth stranger than fiction. She longed for the fairy tale in the fable and the love story costumed as a frog. Sweet kisses. Feverish sighs. Arousing friction. Tempting touches. Soft voices. Flaming passions. She wanted it all.
And yet, knowing both herself and the world, she knew she would live forever with none.
