anthropolatry: waverlyplacenyc:One of my favorite flavors of 1950’s cocktail dresses, leave it t
anthropolatry: waverlyplacenyc: One of my favorite flavors of 1950’s cocktail dresses, leave it to AnthroP to breathe new life into a bygone fashion. But I recall the Sheath dress as landing shorter than this gorgeous print. How hot it would be to hold her in your arms and, while holding fabric firm against the lower curve of her hip, your hand pulls down on a yielding zipper already starting a foot or so beneath her neck. Revealing even more of the soft skin of her upper back you know it is only a moment before she is slinking out of that gorgeous dress. And you let the moment linger, make the moment linger, taking a soft and slow kiss while grazing fingertips lightly between her shoulder blades. The hand that steadied the fabric slips up to cup her chin and the kiss carries longer into the softly lit scene. You leave her spine exposed to your fingertips dancing as low as the zipper pulls while holding her close to prevent a shoulder shrug that would rush the slippage. And mankind lands even shorter if ever even one of the species left this woman awaiting their company. The date that did not show. Damn, I cannot believe there is a man in the solar system who would not show for this woman regardless of how she was dressed. Even if she was wearing a parka. If all the women that follow me are not following waverlyplacenyc after this, then they simply have not seen this reblog of his post on their feed. Men/boys could take note: There is, for many women, a place for the kind of raw passion that comes at you like a force of nature. But then there is also a place for the ability to extend and draw out a sensual moment. To appreciate its importance, to not plough through all the promises it could have held, but instead create the tension in response to the weight of those promises; a place to know that you are alive over and around and through that moment; to be present, to make that moment be everything and by extension make time stand still. The mind of a woman – as I imagine it, having explored my own – can be, sometimes, only be - seduced with words, ideas and concepts. It can be seduced with the tension of making time slow down to a maddening crawl because the point is the journey and not the goal. It can be seduced by the very idea that such a spot on her body such as the curve of a back, a turn of a hip, the flare of a collar bone, the deep pool of her eyes, is so worthy of admiration simply because of the women inside is perceived to be so worthy. That the perception colours everything. That spot, those places, the firing in the brain, respond in kind with every nerve ending reaching out, quivering with a sensitivity. The anticipation, the concept that envelops such an experience can be, at times, more potent for a women, than the caressing of a breast, a hand between the legs, a sucking of a nipple, even a declaration of love. And there is, for those that have the talent to wield such a weapon, a place for the kinds of words that can paint a scene such as this. But it’s a double edge sword for some reading his post, I bet, for I am sure there are some that wish more than anything they could find such a person who would be this way for them. This is just so many kinds of beautiful. -- source link