The Crush

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I’m in love with a woman. No, I’m not a lesbian but it’s something about the way she walks across the room, so much confidence in each step. She always has a “I don’t take sh*t from anyone” look on her face every time I see her. I love the way her jeans hug her curves so perfectly as if they were made specifically for her body. The way they ride up her shapely backside, hips swinging from side to side, intoxicating everyone with each stride. Her skin looks so soft, tattoos covering both arms. She has sex dripping from her pores.


I smell her perfume (sniff) … Juicy Couture. Amazing … sexy and classy. She’s a natural woman, rare, a true diamond in the rough. No makeup caked upon her face, no chemicals or weaves holding down her beautiful curly hair, no fake nails destroying her hands … just a beautiful black woman and no one can tell her otherwise. The epitome of what every mans wants and what every woman wants to be.


However, I can tell by those gorgeous brown eyes that she wasn’t always so confident. Those eyes tell stories of past hurt, eyes that don’t lie. Those same eyes searching the room, on the prowl again, looking for her soul mate, her better half. Those eyes say she’s ready to love again. I love her.


She continues to walk the room, she spots a mirror, she stops … stares, smiles. Smiles the smile of love, smiles that smile with beautiful straight white teeth, juicy plump lips and a grow on her skin … she is me.


I’m in love with a woman … she … is me.


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