A/N: This is what happenes when you're bored, have writter's block on BOTH of the stories you're working on and you find that inspite of having satillite television...there isn't anything on.
Disclaimer: Not mine...and you can't get blood out of a turnip so there's no need for lawyers. The poem belongs to Maya Angelou who is a phnomenal writter.
Pretty women wonder where my
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I'm more than a cop, more than a person who brandishes a gold shield. Then again you'd never know that if you followed me through the day. You'd never know it when you look at my eyes and see the dark circles that I rarely have time to cover with make-up, when you see my hair, how it falls limply around my face. I'd like to cut it just a little shorter but then reality sets in and I know I don't have the time.
I stop by Starbucks this morning and an older woman bumps into me. She turns to express her apologies as I dab the coffee that has spilled on my blouse. I politely excuse the mishap and turn to leave when she catches a glimpse of my badge and stops me.
"You're a lady cop?" she asks me. I smile and tell her I'm a detective but l leave out the particular unit I am assigned to. No need to give a senior citizen a heart attack.
"You're eyes tell a story." She informs me, causing me to stop and pay closer attention to the woman, I ask her what they tell her and I'm almost taken back by her brutal honestly.
"You're tired from what you see, you toss and turn at night and when you do go to sleep, you wish you hadn't," she tells me simply. It's alarming that a stranger knows me this well but I'm compelled to listen.
"You're not like those impossible women our children see on the television, ridiculously thin entirely too much make up…you're real," she says and winks at me, "you're rough." I tell her 'thank you' although; I start to wonder if she has somehow called me fat or inferred I should reconsider my make up choice. But there is something about her boldness that insists I stay.
"You have a secret that is bold." She smiles at me and then almost floors me when she says, "You're a feminine woman and no one believes it, tell them." I blush at her remark knowing it is completely true, knowing I'm seen as one of the guys, I'm sure they'd crap themselves if they knew I love the way my panties caress my body, if they knew I prefer sexy bras, and the silk of my freshly shaven legs. They'd die if they knew I like to lay naked on my bed after a shower and let the air caress my body, let the comforter embrace my skin. I tell her they won't believe me.
I feel my heart almost explode and my face grow flush as she leans in and tells me, "The one who matters will believe you." I'm embarrassed with my reaction in front of a woman who could be my grandmother but there is something about her words that make me think it might be okay, he might believe me.
The next morning, I find myself standing naked in front of the full-length mirror in my room. I glance over at the window to make sure the curtains are drawn, knowing if they weren't already, I'm too late. I come to a conclusion as I look at my form intently for the first time in years.
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
My arms are strong, toned and ready to support any victims burdens, willing to take the burdens of my partner if only he'd give them to me, but, I find that it's my own burdens, my own pain that I shy away from, I bury them somewhere else and hope no one will ever find them.
I take a couple of steps to my closet watching my naked frame as I move, I notice how my hips seem enticing, I'd never realized the way they flow as I walk, I never understood until this movement that they are the power of my body, propelling me faster and faster as I pursue those who rob others of innocence. I never understood how sexy they were, until I understood their strength to support me, and their vulnerability and want to bare a child.
I never understood the stride of my legs, how my calves flexed feminine, not masculine, and for the first time…I see it. When I walk, I see my muscles move freely under my skin and I realize that I'm beautiful.
I smile at how arrogant that sounds and then I realize how I look ten years younger when I smile, when my lips curl into a grin, I've come to the conclusion for the first time in my life that I'm someone sensually erotic, sexy and phenomenal…I'm feminine.
I finally convinced Olivia to let me teach her to play pool tonight. I'm her partner, have been for eight years, but tonight…tonight there's something different about her, something sexy that I can't put my finger on. I start to feel an unusual sense of jealously creep up within me as men look at her while we lay claim to a pool table. I wonder if she sees it.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I'm not sure if it's always happened, I've honestly never paid attention, but there's something different about Elliot as he hands me the pool cue. He's sending off this vibe telling other men to keep their distance from me. I'm not entirely sure why it's happening, perhaps, I'm imagining it but, as I nonchalantly look around the billiard hall, I see men looking at me; not all of them, but enough of them that I feel desired, I feel feminine. I smile when a man from the bar dares to cross into Elliot's territory and stammer asking for my name.
I laugh to myself when Elliot stands next to me with his palm on the small of my back, a touch never before given to me, by him. I savor it for the moment until the dark eyed man understands the action of a possessive man and backs away, causing Elliot's hand to leave my body, I protest inwardly but soon set aside my emotions to play a game he has been asking me for years to play with him.
I feel the hair on my neck stand on end as his body presses over mine, the instruction of how to hold the pool cue falls on deaf ears, all I hear is the pounding of my heart as his breath caresses my neck, his hands cover mine and his hips press into me. I feel him move my hands, pushing the cue into a white mass that obliterated a perfect triangle, I have no clue what he's taught me and maybe that's a good thing…maybe he'll have to show me again.
After I'm comfortable enough with the game and the stares and advances from other men have driven Elliot crazy he escorts me out into the cool New York night and I find that I'm ill prepared for the sensation of cold that encompasses me. It's with his question that I feel my body surge with an embarrassed heat.
"Olivia," he calls my name softly, it seems as though he may still be forming both the question and what he thinks the consequences of the question might be. I humor him knowing that I want him to talk to me, I want him to interact with me…I want him.
"Yeah?" I try to sound as normal as possible but I wonder if he senses my desire for him.
"Did you notice all of the men coming on to you tonight?" He asks me and I find that it startles me, not because its rude or intrusive, though to some it may be, to me, it's just us. It startles me because no one has cared enough to ask if I notice things like that.
"I don't know about all of those men," I try to at least seem humble, but inside I'm aroused, not sexually, but emotionally. I'm not sure I've ever been desired. Needed? Yes. But desired? I'm not sure. "I did notice one or two though." I smile softly and before I can make a fool of myself by asking if it bothered him, he asks me what I think it is about myself that makes men want me.
"Elliot!" I'm shocked at his question but I'm also stalling for time, how does a woman answer such a poignant question. I wonder if I tell him the truth, if he'll think I'm vain. I ponder his question as he walks me down the hall to my apartment and it's not until he reminds me that I haven't answered that I know I have to.
I smile at him and invite him into my home, it's an act of extreme vulnerability to me, I don't like people in my home, no matter how close they are to me. After careful thought I find myself standing in my kitchen with him looking at me, still waiting for my answer.
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
I'm shocked by Olivia's confession of beauty to me, but I know that it's true. I see the intensity of her eyes as she stares fearless into the eyes of those who corrupt the helpless, I see the compassion in those same eyes when she comforts a woman that has just had the sacred torn from her. I see that hidden playfulness in her when she smiles at me.
If she knew what it did to my heart beat when she flashed that dazzling grin, she'd stop, for fear of giving me a heart attack, and I can never let her know that it's the way she moves her waist that sends me into oblivion. I finally figured it out, she's different when she's not wearing the tools of our trade, she bold, strong and entirely feminine and while that doesn't change when she dons her badge, she does moves differently tonight…more passionately.
She stands in front of me waiting for a reply and I know that what I have to tell her will either, make us as friends, and encourage us to be more, or it will break us as friends and destroy us as partners.
I close the gap between us, knowing full well that she's been hurt time and time again, I move to her knowing she may reject me, and still I move. I hear her breath hitch as I stand inches from her, lacing my fingers into hers and allowing our hands to brush against her thigh. I find that in such an intimate proximity, she's entirely stunning. I take in her scent and ask an important question.
I was shocked when Elliot took my hand into his, and asked me why I've never allowed myself the pleasure of someone loving me or caring for me. Before I can protest his thesis, it dawns on me that he's right. I don't allow it because I don't deserve it and there has been no one that has been able to convince me otherwise. I take a deep breath and explain my position.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I wonder if he thinks I'm pathetic with what I've told him, I wonder if he thinks I'm emotionally void for telling him that there have been many men that I've dated, a handful that I've had long relationships with, but none have amounted to anything significant other than sex which, in the grand scheme of things, was far from significant. I wonder if he can feel my pain when I struggle to explain to him that with each man that yelled at me for my reluctance to open up and share myself with him, I fought hard to express myself only for them to remain blind and unconcerned with what truly lies beneath my gruff exterior. They couldn't see and…after a while…I didn't want them to.
I'm completely intrigued with what Olivia has just confessed to me. Not because I enjoy that she's been hurt, but because, I enjoy that she has been so nakedly vulnerable with me. I find that with her choice to be vulnerable, I have chosen to be more curious, and so, I take a deep breath and ask, "Tell me what it is about you that captivates me?"
I start to wonder if this man enjoys asking me such difficult questions but I know that God has given me another chance to allow myself to be cared for by someone that, because of his species, I don't willingly trust, but for the sake of being cared for, I'll force myself tonight, to go beyond vulnerable, and into transparent. I take a breath and put my soul on the line.
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
I know that I have never seen a woman more beautiful than Olivia is as she describes her body to me. I found myself making a visual trail along her slender frame as she spoke and for the first time during our intimate conversation I release her hand and place it at the arch of her back just along her waistline. I watch as she smiles, actually comfortable explaining herself to me. I watch her chest rise and fall as she starts to grow nervous the closer my lips come to hers.
His lips against mine, was a sensation I never thought would exist but as his hands pull my hips into his and his stubble caresses my lips, I find that everything else has paled in comparison to this man holding me next to him, his chest beating frantically against mine as he gently pushes me against the counter his fingertips delicately tracing my jaw line as his tongue seeks me out.
He tries to separate from me and I know it's only because he feels he might be crossing the line. I drape my arms over his shoulders and follow his lips taking him back to me and caressing the nape of his neck as I feel his hands caress my hips again. It was only for the necessity of breath that we finally separated, each of us panting as we rested our foreheads against one another's a gentle push and give from me to him as we exchanged breaths and kissed one another softly again.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman