Beauty

Stan wanted her. She was incredible. She had soft, thin features, a gentle complexion; her hair like finely spun hay in the sunshine and her eyes were icy blue. Stan was actually winded when he saw her. Although he might have been out of breath from running to the train which seemed to arrive two minutes earlier than it normally does.

Stan sat in the nearest seat to keep his eye on this vision of Venus, but not so where she could really look at him. She was invested in some paperwork on her lap and appeared to be deep in thought about it. She was absently chewing gently on her thumbnail as the train motored along.

Stan looked at her again, without looking. One of the tricks most men pick up at a very early age. The word ogling came to mind. He wasn’t a pervert or some weirdo that just stared at beautiful women. He was a regular guy enamored by what in his mind was essentially the perfect woman. She wasn’t a supermodel or anything like that but she probably could easily blend in with a crowd of them. He could tell she had taste by her choice of clothing and accessories.

It was then that Stan saw it. The giant wedding ring her left ring finger and his heart slightly sank. Of course this blessed and amazing woman was married. If he had seen her first he would have done everything in his power to keep her for himself. She was probably married within a year of meeting her six foot four, 185 pound high school football coach husband. He’s all lean and muscle, chiseled and square jawed, but slightly balding.  

She flipped through the papers on her lap and looked up. Stan deftly averted his eyes toward the window as if he was merely admiring the passing and familiar scenery along the train route. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and pretended to be thinking about something else. She looked down and adjusted her shirt over her well and perfectly sized breasts. Stan really hadn’t looked at them. He was more taken by her face, but her breasts were clearly well designed in God’s factory. She looked back down at her work and Stan felt that he’d seen a lot of beauty in his life.

He felt that he was pretty lucky to have seen this woman. That in his mind, she was the archetype for the woman that he wanted to be with, to spend time with, admire and smile at all the rest of his days.  He thought of the beautiful women in his life, how each had some spark of beauty he was lucky enough to see. He’d seen glittering eyes, soft lips, loving smiles, felt the passion in their bodies, the desire in their hands. He’d been privileged on more than one occasion to hold such beauty close to his own body and relish in an imaginary world of old age with her.

Stan opened a dialogue with God in his head and thanks him for letting him experience so many beautiful things, so many beautiful women in his life. It seemed like a silly thing to thank God for and perhaps a little petty, but it was sincere. He was truly thankful he’d had so many opportunities to experience the beauty in others.

The train started to slow and Stan stood up as the station swallowed the train car. He took one more look at her and filed her away along with all the other fantastic things he’d been so wildly lucky enough to witness.

The train stopped. He rushed down the stairs and was already cursing the slow moving people milling about in front of him.