He wasn't a god, but he was handsome. His shoulders were wide and thick with muscle. His arms were strong, without being ropey or veiny in the way men can be.
Lord but I envied that tan! It painted every inch of him in a warm earth tone which somehow made his skin appear smoother. His color couldn't have been more perfect if he'd just popped out of the toaster, and of course he wasn't wearing a shirt. I found myself watching his tattered jeans, watching the blue line of his boxers as he bent over. Partly for the view of his ass, but also curious if his tan was all over...and what exactly there was to be all over.
The bronze skin complimented his dark hair that showed beneath a well worn Harley Davidson cap. I could tell his hair was thick, and curly. What I didn't guess was his length. As I drooled from a distance, he pulled the cap from his head and ran his hand through gloriously long hair. Too short to pull back, but long enough to make my fingers itch for wanting to run my own hands through it.
He came to stand at the bottom of the porch. I wasn't exactly hiding out at the top of the steps, but I was trying to not make it blatantly obvious I was watching him. Apparently I made it just apparent enough to catch his interest, because he looked up at me with a smile and started in on small talk.
A sheen of sweat glistened on his leather-colored chest. Black hair curled around his features, which were strong and angular without being harsh or cruel. This man could intimidate with a glare, but charmed with a grin. His eyebrows were twin black lines on his tanned face, but his eyes - they were the pale blue of a sky when there are few clouds, but not enough sun to be brilliant.
The caramel tone of his body and sable hair made his eyes appear almost dusty. I was about to pass them off as plain, when he smiled. Maybe the light caught them. Maybe his own glow lit them. Suddenly they sparkled like ice blue diamonds in the cinnamon of his skin.
No, he still wasn't a God, but add an Irish accent, and I'd have done him.
Today's Supa-Short Story is inspired by Jimmy, the new pool boy - who is not Irish, but Croatian. Still, I'm not about to split hairs over Nationalities. And honestly, who here would not want to come watch him leaf net under the hot sun for a few hours?
I know it kept me entertained today.
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2 comments:
Ah, Jimmy. I may have to get myself a pool.
To hell with the pool, I wanna get myself a Jimmy. Oh wait... I have one.
(I love accents as much as the next girl, but something about rugged Eastern Europeans makes me weak in the guts. Not like 'loose bowels' weak, but you know, the other guts.)
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