His scent entered the room before his body; as if, sandalwood and patchouli rolled out the red carpet for his arrival. A dark, floral foreshadow of what was to come. Opening the door to our office, we were all surprised. Surprised by his appearance: wild, curly locks...long, brown beard...a one-piece garment that covered everything but his muscular calves, naked ankles and leather sandals. Surprised that he reeked of sex appeal: he was young...handsome...almost regal.
One of my female co-workers approached him with her hand extended, "Hi, welcome to Bridgewater!"
In the nicest way possible, he rejects her invite to shake hands, "I'm sorry, ma'am, per Islam, I am unable to shake the hands or women. Out of respect for you and my family, I can only lay hands on my wife." I've never seen a moment when people were offended and aroused simultaneously. Indeed, forbidden fruit is always sweeter.
Reluctantly retrieving her lonely hand, she apologizes, "I'm...I'm sorry."
He smiles, "Don't be." I can't take my eyes off of him, I can't keep from deeply inhaling his essence. I've never been more glad to file, I would've been dazed and confused working with him. Slightly eavesdropping, I hear him, "The origins of man's heart is black. Lust occurs very subliminally, by resisting touch, we attempt to nip sinful thoughts at the bud." He has no idea that he's adding fuel to a forbidden flame. Or does he?
He goes on to explain, "I could shake your hands, feeling the softness of your skin. Without knowing, my mind could start to travel and imagine your touch elsewhere." I couldn't believe what I'm hearing, he seducing everyone within earshot in reverse. Shame on him? Bravo?
The women in the office were moving differently; there's a little more motion in their hips...more swivel in their steps. It was a very interesting moment. I could see that I wasn't the only one that wanted him. Filing documents into the appropriate accounts, I entertained thoughts of soiling his discipline. My mind filled with images of cracking him open and taking a deep, deep whiff. I imagined myself sodomizing his sacred flesh with my tongue. He has no idea what he's doing to everyone in the room. Or does he?
I was shocked to hear, "Do you happen to have a man on staff who could show me?" Have you ever tried to deflate an erection in thirty seconds? Forcing myself to relax while adjusting the bulge throbbing in my pants, I prepare for my manager to walk in.
She's glowing as she asks, "Do you have a moment?"
"Sure," my best impersonation of cavalier proves believable.
Walking the grounds with him, all of my sale tactics were tossed out of the window. We talked religion and philosophy, I gave him a clue, "I'm equally as religious, but on the other side of the spectrum."
"Let just say, after an encounter with my work, you'll either develop a better understanding of your own beliefs or walk away willing to try something new."
Excitement kicks up in his voice, "That sounds interesting, I'd love to read your work."
Putting up a wall, I refuse to shake his proverbial hand, "You'd have to find it on your own or it isn't meant for you."
"Hmmm," I made him think...What: I have no clue.
Returning to the office, I give him my business card with my cell phone number secretly scribbled on the back. Extending his hand towards me, "Thank you for everything; it's been a pleasure."
Grasping his soft hand, I smile, "likewise," he has no idea what's coursing through my mind. Or does he?
The above photography has beem lodged in my mind for months now...