TG2CC… And All the Rest – Part Deux


Welcome back, friend.

I see that you’re still curious about winning this fine maiden’s interest and destroying her precious womanhood (see previous entry). If you expected something else, then you can go elsewhere. In light of the fairly celebrated Valentine’s Day, the next one or two entries are dedicated to teaching you all about the object of our attraction, Chris Cicchelli. On our last expedition, we discovered this featherless dove gripping her paperback on the subway ride home. Her glasses hide her pupils, which, to a novice observer, would seem only to penetrate those stiff pages that she flips with eagerness. However, for true watchers, such as you and I, we know that her raspberry-colored frames offer little advantage to catching her glance. Yes, she can be spotted spotting others on the train with complete discretion. She is an owl in a peacock; she radiates to be looked at and, yet, engages primarily in the art of gaze. Our next section provides us with better details on how to properly engage and attract with a simple look.

The Gaze

Her coat is far too broad to determine physical shape. However, one can tell that by her swift movement and bony fingers that the body of our beloved creature is a coca cola bottle of erotics. She stands at a cool 5’8. Her feet are a size 10. Her limbs extend to uncommon heights, and often get in the way of even the most easiest of tasks. With a lion’s head and kind eyes, she wears a halo of illustrious curls; it frames her almost perfect face as the center of our curiosity. Her skin is the color of honey and chocolate milk and, when smoothed out against one’s own flesh, becomes an instrument that cosmically sounds upon contact. Her face is a template of the seasons, changing as does its mistress who wears her veneer ’round her skull. Her comet-shaped eyebrows thick and dark at the tip, plummet to the center, leaving behind sparse hairs. She often paints in where her sanity has left off. Her nose is a cherry. Her lips are a rainbow of dirty fleshtones, manifesting desires of taste and touch. She is spotted with a pimple or two, and such humble imperfections cause the eyes of her hunter to soften with vulnerability. She paints her face up quite properly in public, and dresses it like an empty stage only for herself. A palette of circumstance, her cheeks appear flushed, her lips bleeding, her eyes bruised. All to hide her spotted beauty, which is to be appreciated by her companions and acquaintances. Her mane is untameable, and thus unabashedly abhors product or conformity. It will always make itself known, even before she does. This we must remember. With these characteristics in mind, she is a question mark, incomplete, and all the more mysterious. The gems lurk underneath her overcoat. Earth’s humble creation is seeking out an equal, and while she masks her strength and dominance (for now), you must be assertive in your gains. This calls for a challenge. To hold a gaze with her long enough is to carefully bite away at the layers of defenses that she unknowably fashions to her pupils. Sharpen your instincts and be persistent. See her eyes dart back and forth, from the print to you and back again. You have disrupted her flow. She will make a choice right then and there. If she declines your invitations, she will wear her book in front of her face, or her eyebrows will arch with suspect. Bastard! She will degrade you with her expressions. A face in winter, cold and frigid. She is a sexless gun. What can we do but continue our demise or look onward for someone more, uh, approachable? But, what if she accepts the invitation? Well, then our lady will wear the eyes of Spring, and a smile is what you should follow with. Maybe whisper to her a sensitive, hello, private-and exclusively for her to read on your mouth.

Prepare yourself for a gleamed revelation. Bright and indicative of her thoughts, she unleashes a crescent moon upon the ocean of your officiousness. It’s twilight now, and boy, your sails will blow gently by her breezes. It’s an innocent smile that she is going to give you, so pure with happiness, because she has finally been captured. So, now, our cooing leopard has found us.

What’s next?

Well, you must be anticipating her voice. What may she sound like? Will her voice be a straight line of boredom? Will it be sprinkled with a coarse maturity? Or is it sugar coated with youth and charm? Does she speak like a tourist? A terrorist? A tour guide? A western country singer? Wait, what will you say? How will you initiate a conversation? What would be the most sensational of pickup lines that will so steadily sweep her off her feet that she will melt (in a manner of speaking) in your expert hands?

Well, a hello might do. Then we’ll take it from there…

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