Ohhh

My eyes glided over the messy, light hair framing his face. His shirt was a tailored, crisp shade of white, rolled at the cuffs, leaving his forearms bare. I paused on his forearms, surprised at their natural muscularity and color.  I had never seen Henry shirtless but his hedonistic lifestyle had always left me to assume a soggy pale figure without much muscle or tone.

The newfound tone of his forearms intrigued me and the mystery of what lay beneath the rest of his pressed, cotton button down encouraged me to move up his arm, to his chest, and down his torso where I lingered for a bit; his frame was oddly fit for someone who didn’t know the meaning of exercise. Reflecting on prior conversations, I wondered if it was all the sex with 17 year old brothel maids that assisted such aesthetics or the gifted DNA of a sturdy Welsh mother, whose outspoken & empowered manner seemed ironically removed from Henry’s current view of women.