My Birthday Gift, To Me In Prose

My birthday gift, to me. In prose This night of November 27th , in our year of the lord, two thousand and one I decided to treat myself to a living birthday present, a living, dancing birthday card, fifteen days late in the coming . They be some lovelies that make old men’s mouths water, if only they could, – had not dried up – give him wet dreams, if only he dreamt of such things, where nothing seems as it is or should be, or could be. But isn’t that the reality of life ? The first gift of eye candy came in a natural state, this black haired beauty was going off as I came in, and then, after a little time had passed, a fair haired beauty dawned on her act and came before me in all her natural and unnatural beauty, dropped all of her inhibitions and exposed her enhanced, unnatural beauty, the works of some sculptors hands – a doctor of plastic molds, whom I have to admit, is a master among his peers, for his work flowed so naturally into and along with the beauty she was born with, I was impressed. It was difficult for me to discern at first, but being a, very personally flawed, protectionist, it finally showed. More down time had passed before this raven haired beauty with bright rays of sun light streaking down past her temples and sliding off her sculptured cheeks, cascading down from above, flowing softly over her soft bear shoulders. For those who believe that all women are ball busters, this I have to say to you, “ in all my flawed wisdom, this lovely, this young lady is not one ” but I do believe that she could be a tooth buster, for there was not a spots upon this beauties body, of joy, of pleasure that a man could and certainly would lay his lips to, softly sink his teeth into, that was not hung like a Christmas tree with all these perfect, golden trinkets, these diamonds dangling, before discerning eyes, just waiting, with delight, for someone to bite . Time to go, I have seen enough of the show, no more do I need to reminisce about all that I miss, of that time, when spring was sprung upon us with her sparkling green attire, that set on fire, dead wood brining warmth, for a moment, that I could not retire from and so I stay to watch one more play of body upon the mind, upon ancient memories, upon the stage as she turns another page with a radiant smile as warm and bright as the sun streaked beauty, that came before her, who’s warmth seemed to radiate ( wishful thinking ) towards me, who’s smile and attention brightened up my otherwise gloomy day, who’s playfulness seemed as sincere as the natural beauty of her natural body as she pranced, paraded and danced before us, us who came to see, - for one brief moment ( for whatever reason ) – wish and reminisce and now it is time for me to go, I have seen enough of the show to remind me of all that I used to know.