The Renaissance Man

So this is a continuation of my Ghost Writer’s series. You send me a story, I post it up and you can remain anon. Simple and easy

This one is by the Communist Flower. Enjoy

 

 

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The Renaissance Man

I sit back and ponder on what it is that I want in a man, what I need. This lonely feeling has become a heavy burden on my mind, built a fire which burns with rage deep within my chest and instigates a desire between my thighs. A void must be filled but I am not in a hurry to do such as I have come to realise that the man I seek may not be of this world or this lifetime. He is but a memory, dare I say, a figment of my imagination brought about by my numerous encounters with tales from the 14th-17th century. A Renaissance man, that he is.

 

He is a cultured man, a strong man standing tall like a royal steed, well to do and from a house of integrity. He mingles with the nobles at the king’s court, his honour is without blemish and it is only I that he desires, it is only I he sees. He derives pleasure from dancing to sonnets, his mind is a ballad which I hope to be listen to and learn to play someday, he draws his inspiration from art and nature, he is fearful and respectful of the higher powers which exists in this world, his mind is open to enlightenment and he can manipulate me without my knowledge.

He takes delight in my plunging neckline as it lays bear my bountiful mounds, he stares deeply into my eyes as if it held the key to eternal youth and smiles as colour rushes to my cheeks knowing that I am embarrassed in his sight. He is not scorned by my intelligence, height, beauty or success, in fact, that is what delights him most about me. He is comforted by the envy of his peers as they look upon me as a great catch fit for a king and not some trophy to forget on a shelf.

I wonder where this man might be, what he is called by his peers, when he was born, what he is doing to keep himself occupied and whether he is aware of my existence. I wonder if he feels the same way, whether he loves me as much as I do him; Truly, Madly, Deeply.

How can I love another who is unknown to me with so much conviction? How can I be bewildered by a man who may be yet unborn? Perhaps we were lovers in previous versions of the world and our paths are just destined to cross. Star crossed lovers are we and lovers we shall remain until earth prime (earth as I know now) ceases to exist, and we are all drifting vectorless into empty space or until my delusions have clearly began to becloud my sense of better judge and I am to be institutionalized until I have become a burden not only to myself but to others that surround me and I am to be made a martyr, beheaded on a scaffold to warn the younger generation of women not to let their foolish fantasies get ahead of their duty to their houses and society.

I wait patiently in anticipation of my fate which lies in the hands of this unknown figure of the past and hope that the scales tip in my favour. . . .

 

Well then. She would appreciate your comments

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2 responses to “The Renaissance Man

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