Lest any of you think that this blog only mentions older women, there have been a handful of far younger in my life, at least to one degree or another. Just like the others that I have written about.
As I approached--and crossed--the 'forty' line, there were a few twenty-somethings who flashed through my life. There was Tiffany, by far the most unconventional (er, I think), Crystal, who had beautiful skin, Raquel, who was deeply romantic, and...Christie. I always thought that Christie was beautiful, clever, attractive, intelligent, resourceful, funny, appealing and sexy...and that was before she trotted out her little red dress.
Suddenly...devastating.
Utterly so. Breathtaking is probably the best word that I have ever used.
To my amazement, I suddenly found that I was seeing on the exterior the exceptional woman that I had always sensed on the interior.
I remember one day, sitting in the basement of the Library. Just looking at her, the curve of her face, how her hair set off her eyes, gracefully framed her face. Thinking about how beautiful she was. Or remembering the time that online she sat unseen feet away, claiming to be elsewhere, while mysteriously “guessing” every element of my attire.
I always have regretted not walking her to her door that night.
Christie was absolutely beautiful. Her raven hair was dramatically set off by the ruby red of her dress. Rich tresses swept gracefully about her incredible cheeks, cascaded softly down her back. I had never seen her look so vibrant, so alive, so...luscious. Absolutely entrancing.
Like so many others, I never did manage to sift the depths of Christie's mischievous soul. I know that there is a great deal of joy and passion there, welling beyond the surface. I just didn't manage to touch it…for myself.
I never told her, but whatever she might have once told me, Christie does have a great figure. I have to admit, years later, I would have loved to see just how that tiny red dress opened—a hot topic of discussion that evening. It was tiny enough to spark the imagination, exactly what she was wearing beneath it that night. Just that high slit atop her sleek thighs alone, reaching towards her hip, the hint of a wonderful rump...was more than enough to capture any man’s imagination.
After all, it was Christie who made the dress come alive. Not the other way around.
Unfortunately, there were three of us friends, old roommates, out for dinner that night, and I suspected that if for anyone, Christie wore that little red dress for the other guy....to my eternal regret.
Still, I can think back on four girls with a smile on my face. Interestingly, all of these younger women are from vastly different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. From Chicago to Catalonia, with Turkish and Szechwan blending into the mix. That doesn’t even begin to mention disparate religious differences...and all four of them were beautiful.
It's kinda funny. A year or two later, Christie commented about how I liked bright colors. Perhaps it wasn't so much bright colors, but the incredible woman wearing them. And while she might not have been in the absolutely fit, perfect shape that she felt that she needed to be to wear that...remarkable dress, she is, was and always will be, beautiful, breathtaking and devasting.
Just because that's the woman that she is.
Like so many of my other stories, I have never been able to say this to Christie.
She deserves it.
