Results tagged “latin lovers” from Overlooked

Ce n'était qu'un rêve

We were sitting outside an old cafe, at a small white table with a round glass top. It was a sunny day but it wasn't overbearing. There was a slight breeze, just enough to blow strands of her jet black hair across her face. We were sitting close to each other. I could feel her close to me. I was leaned over with my head propped up on my fist and my elbow on the table facing her. My hand sat on the back of her chair. She was sitting with her right leg crossed over her left leg. The top of her foot was coyly brushing against the back of my left calf. She was having some expensive weird coffee drink and I was having a dram of Cointreau. I leaned in closer to her and gently brushed her hair back, kissing her on the neck very slowly. I left my lips pressed against her warm skin and breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled so womanly. I pulled back and gave her a wink and a broad smile. She squinted at me and pouted her lips. "You're trying to cause trouble, aren't ya?" she asked quietly, more with her dark green eyes than with her lilted Irish brogue.

Her hair was black like Guinness, and she had a slight dusting of freckles across her nose and her pale shoulders. "Yes. Yes I am." I smiled back. Well, I was trying to cause trouble… She shook her head and pursed her lips even tighter but broke into a cute, knowing smile.

"How does the world stay safe with you around?" she smirked. I reached for her hand and held it gently. I held her palm open and tickled my fingers lightly across it. She gave me a suspicious look. "It's not working," she said, her resolve starting to quaver. I looked into her eyes and brought her hand up to my lips. I kissed her palm. Lingering. Slowly planting kisses. Watching her. I followed her life line to the inside of her wrist. She bit her lower lip. I smiled and pressed my lips lightly to her. I flicked my tongue. She gave a startled gasp. I could feel her pulse quicken. She drew her hand back with a heavy breath and crossed her arms. I laughed, "All right... All right... but let me just say this doesn't mean I give up."

She looked at me full on, like a mother bear, gauging and calculating. She shook her head again and laughed, tilting her head back. Her beautiful white teeth flashing. Her laughter rolling like a brook, languidly splashing the flowers on its green banks.

She was wearing a light pink, sleeveless, fitting t-shirt. A white, flowing skirt hugged her hips, heightening her feminine curves. "Be my wife," I told her.

"But Charley! I hardly even know ya!" she said doubting herself, but her eyebrows knitted with stubborn Irish resolution.

"All right, but promise me to spend the rest of your time here with me." I pleaded. She looked sadly, deep into my eyes.

"I promise".

And then I woke up.

Hello Dalí!

- Salvador Dalí

There are few things as perfectly beautiful in this cold and tumultuous world as a perfectly-crafted and tended mustache. The ideal one should take on a life of its own as a glistening beacon of hope, pointing the way to freedom and utopia. Those who see it will be inspired in unimaginable ways; those who touch it will be overcome with impossible rhapsody; those who wear it will be revered as demigods: pillars of society and a touchstone for all.

Altruistic as well as aesthetic.

The most breathtaking mustache in the history of mankind belonged to one Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, the First Marquis of Púbol. While his name spoke volumes, Dalí's mustache was succinct and precise. There was no mistaking its meaning - in fact, to even expound upon it would be to trivialize it.

So bewitching were his facial accoutrements that it is thought that Daliflor, his most famous eau de toilette, was created in their honor. It is rumored that the scent's mysterious base note was water filtered and mixed by Dalí's own petal-kissed mustache. Since then, Daliflor has become a timeless and classic fragrance, inspiring women young and old to melt with ecstasy.

Thus this mustache was one with a practical purpose: it not only gave a magical quality to Dalí's face, but it bestowed a bit of its own beauty upon others. If only we could all grow mustaches and make such a difference, the world would be a much more beautiful place.