Master 
Super Moderator
Registration Date: 06-27-2006
Posts: 93
Mistress Or Master Or Slave: Master
Location: USA
Level: 34 [?]
Experience: 637,337
Next Level: 677,567
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Watching him you will see it instantly. He draws them all like flies. He has that certain quality that attracts people. That magnetism. It is charisma. He has had it since he was young. Had it when I met him at the tenderest of ages. Green eyes deep and full of all the emotions he never shows any other way. Hair spiked and punked up sassily, sexily, retro but it fits his style. The way he walks. Relaxed gait, and long stride. Women stop and stare. He walks like a man confident in who and what he is, confident in what he wants. When he speaks, his voice is rich, deep and baritone changing in inflection to his feelings and moods, his British accent detectable, but not overwhelming, getting thicker as emotions play in his words. When he sings, his voice becomes gravel and silk, sex appeal all at once, reaching out to touch your soul and caress you. He is the perfect performer. The charisma wraps you in his spell.
When I first saw him he was 18, barely a man. Yet he still had that charm, that charisma. He played the guitar with passion. He made love to the guitar with his fingers, making a woman just imagine what else those fingers could do. I remember feeling that electric spark from him immediately. The way his eyes met mine and held my gaze was unnerving from one so young, so innocent. Yes he was still innocent in many ways. Rock and Roll had yet to take away that innocence. It still hasn't really. The drugs had yet to take away that innocence.
His hair was sloppily cut in a haphazard way and he had a bad bleach job on it, blonde on a boy who was clearly not intended to be a blonde. Punk. Black eyeliner, black teeshirt, black jeans, chain for a belt. He looked scary, until you looked in his eyes. The innocence there took you by surprise. The power of those eyes. Then when he opened his mouth to sing, it was pure sex appeal coming from the lips of a boy not even fully a man. I felt foolish at the age of 23 for even thinking it about a child of his age.
He joined our band. He and I sang together and everyone commented how we had a "chemistry" on stage, in singing. Our voices blended perfectly, complimented each other. I avoided physical contact off stage, out of rehearsal. He spent his days playing his guitar and his nights carousing with his mates and his girlfriends, a different one every night.
As time went on he turned 19, I was deeply involved with my own love, the love of my life who had made me an expectant mother. Yet I was afraid of the fragility of my own relationship and my confidence in myself was shaken time and again by my love's unfaithfulness. He became my friend, this tender young man. Holding me while I cried my tears. Offering words of comfort, apologizing for the rudeness of a man he hated and swore he would never become. Even in his youth he was wise beyond his years in compassion and understanding. Easy to talk to, easy listener. I felt drawn to that charisma the same way so many others were, have been over the years even. I was 24, he was 19 and as much as a sin as it was I knew I wanted that boy. I couldn't get him off my mind. When we sang together it was like foreplay leading up to the big moment then letting you down to feel restless and unsatisfied. Foreplay without the explosion at the end. Then he would be off to his girls and I would be alone in my room to dream and cry.
One morning coming up the hallway in the townhouse, he lived with me and my lover, I was startled as he came out of the hall bath nothing but a towel wrapped about his waist. His hair wet and slicked back, his young body, hard and muscular. I remember sucking in my breathe. He caught me staring, he blushed and excused himself to his room. I had that sight in my memory for days.
I knew he was attracted too, but like me he was shy of it, afraid of it, it was so forbidden. His eyes revealed it. They would meet mine and soften then he would blush and look away. He wanted me too, but didn't quite know how to handle it. Seventeen is so tender.
I take the blame now for what happened. Nineteen is too young to seduce, but 24 is not. I was vulnerable having a freshly broken heart, being dumped for a woman older than me, yet not pregnant as I was. I felt scared. He was ready for comforting. He held me while I cried. Laying on my bed he held me and I sobbed into his chest. When I got my tears under control I realized my situation. I was lying in his arms, breathing in his scent, feeling wrapped in comfort and warmth, and the electricity was all around. I looked up into his tender face, his eyes were deep green full of emotions and confusion at once. He looked about to run like a deer that suddenly realizes they are in the hunter's sights. His face soft, his lips full, his eyes held a hint of something more, something that told me one kiss and I could have him. I kissed him. He seemd to melt against me, sinking into the kiss. His mouth was soft, and the kiss was tentative, exploring, almost shy. As I deepened the kiss, he gasped with shock and arousal all at once. I looked in his eyes as I broke the kiss. Dark deep green pools of arousal, and confusion too. He was unsure. I wasn't.
He tried to protest, apologize, as if it were his fault. His voice was deep, husky, his accent thick. I shushed him with my finger tip. I knew it was a sin to seduce him, to blatantly take advantage of this young man, but I wanted indulgence. I wanted him.
I let my fingers explore him, finding his skin to be hot and silky, soft to the touch, yet muscularly hard his body was too. He sucked his breathe inward as I trailed a fingertip over his stomach and downward. His eyes lost the confused look and became clouded with desire and hunger. He was as hungry for affection as I was.
I kissed him again, tasting his mouth, letting the kiss bring him to where I was. Feeling his hands begin to explore me, his kisses becoming hotter and longer, insistent, demanding. I wanted to explore him top to bottom. I kissed down his neck, feeling him gasp, hearing him moan. His eyes closed, his face caught in the expression of arousal. I kissed a trail down his chest, teasing him, playing with the hair that grew spread out in a pattern across his chest tapering to a thin trail that led downward over his stomach to the secret places below.
He seemed to come to himself a bit when I got to his stomach and he tried to protest again, lightly, but I once more shushed him with a kiss. Then I worked my own magic on him. I let myself let go of all inhibitions and revelled in the pleasures I was bringing to him. As I explored him, I could hear his moans and cries and it made me all the more aroused. I felt agressive as I never had before. His noises were uninhibited and when I brought him to completion he sighed. His eyes were soft as they met mine, full of thanks and also desire still. He became bolder. He kissed me, then began his own slow explorations, driving me mad for my own completion. His eyes ravaged me as much as his fingers, his mouth, drinking me up, and telling me I was beautiful more than words ever could.
When we came together it was with the heat and passion of an attraction that had been pent up for far too long. Music and color, red and black and yellow, and a fast drum with wild guitars. Afterwards we lay wrapped in sweat of each other's bodies and gasped. I kissed his face.
He apologized. I shushed him. He had nothing to apologize for. As he fell asleep I felt the first of the fear, the guilt for what I had done. He would feel obligated to me, I knew it. It was just who he was. I knew what I had to do. I got up and while he slept, packed my things and left the townhouse for good.
I didn't see him for a couple of months and when I did see him again, he had changed. Gone was the blond mop top, replaced by his normal brown locks spiked to perfection, his face more grown up even though he was still just 19. The drugs gave him a harder look, he had begun to use cocaine to keep up the pace of his own hectic schedule he set himself to. Our eyes met, his revealed the hurt, the unasked, unanswered questions. Yet neither of us ever brought it up; to this day we don't bring it up.
He is like a brother to me now. I watch as the young girls fall. His eyes bring them down every time. He is a heartbreaker without intentionally trying to be one. He breaks a heart a day just with his eyes. I know our one night tryst had its purpose, it made me a whole woman again, and maybe made him a man. Yet it is left where it is, in the past.
He smiles and sometimes my heart feels a warmth. He just has that kind of smile. Rare, but when it happens it is sudden and full of heat, full of life and warmth and touches you like the sun. He has charisma, and if you don't believe me one look at him and you will understand. One look and he touches your life, and you won't ever forget him.
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Charisma
