Ain't no other man
I know lots of girls daydream about their ideal man, imagining a white knight that provides them with a house in the suburbs, two kids, a white picket fence and a Labrador. I've never been one of them though, yes I'm a romantic and enjoy watching love stories unfold, but I don't need a man to rescue me. I'm not living in some terrible situation, I had a great childhood, raised in an affluent family with two loving parents, and three amazing sisters, and was given the best of everything.
Still I look for a man with five distinct qualities. He has to smell good, like comfort. For me that's scotch, leather, sweat, engine oil and fresh grass because that is how dad used to smell. Even though I'm now a mum myself, I can remember the way it felt when he would come home after a long trip. I would always be so excited. "Aura! Aura where are you?" Mum's voice echoed through the large house, the usually calm tones overlaid with annoyance as she couldn't find me.
I sat with my knees pressing into the hard wood of the window sill, nose up against the glass as I watched the path, waiting breathlessly for dad to come back. The instant I saw him appear at the garden gate I was in motion, hurtling down the stairs, "Aura!" he laughed, catching my ungainly form as I stumbled.
"I missed you papi." I admitted against his collar.
"I missed you too sweetie," he rubbed my back; his huge hand was very reassuring as I heard mum come up behind me. I lifted my head off dad's shoulder as something sharp hit my nose.
"You got her?" Mum rested one ringed hand on my shoulder as she kissed dad swiftly. Her relief was obvious in her voice, turning it from soft to sharp in an instant.
"I've got her." Dad tightened his grasp around me, carrying me into the living room. "Here Aura," he produced a small teddy from his pocket as we sat down on the sofa. Mum sat down on the other side, as dad started to read from our battered and peeling copy of Winnie the Pooh. His deep rumbling voice sent me to sleep, leaning back against his chest.
My ideal man has to have kind eyes, I've always believed that the eyes are the windows to the soul and I couldn't spend my life with somebody unkind. His eyes were the first thing that attracted me.
There was a sparkle and a life to them that I hadn't seen in any of the other boys in junior high. I wasn't expecting to find it though, when dad dragged me along to the Plaza, that Christmas, back in 1989. "Do we have to go?" I lagged behind dad as he made his way up the steps.
"Yeah. I'm supposed to meet a business associate at the bar. I need you to entertain his son." The doorman opened the door for us, and dad took my hand.
"His son?" I'm always interested in meeting new people and most of dad's associates' kids have been really nice. Dad nods, before leading me through the doorway. A tall blond man was waiting with a broad smile. A lanky boy lingered behind him. As soon as our eyes met, I saw the kindness behind the sulky mask currently twisting his features, and knew that I could be friends with him.
If I'm going to fall for a bloke, I need him to have an expressive voice. I couldn't imagine spending my life with someone who constantly speaks in a monotone. He has to like music too. I honestly don't know how I would cope, living in a music free home.
He clicks on the radio, before we've pulled out of the driveway, tuning into a classic rock station. He starts singing along, after a few seconds, his husky singing voice makes me smile as he joins in with Kurt Cobain's tortured vocal. "So you still feel Teen spirit?" I laugh.
"When I'm with you?" he smiles, "I'm living the dream babe," I can't resist laughing, at the cheesiness, and then he takes my hand.
Touch is vital for me, when it comes to falling in love. I need somebody who isn't afraid to hold me in public. Most of my previous boyfriends haven't been a fan of public displays of affection. The only bloke I've had a long term thing with, was a definite scaredy cat when it came to 'chick' moments. He loved having sex in random spots, like any highly sexed male in his twenties, it didn't really matter where the urge overtook him, and he was up for anything.
My perfect match isn't like that. He's highly sexed, but it's the quiet tender moments between us that I value the most. Watching the bright neon lights of the strip flash by, through the car window, I sigh, a little sad that our weekend is over, but then I feel him take my hand, absently rubbing his thumb over my palm. I glance over, to see that he's still watching the road, but a small smile quirks his mouth.
Taste is very important to me, I inherited my dad's passion for trying new things, and I have never really seen the point in travelling, only to taste the same meals you have at home. I want a bloke who's adventurous when it comes to food, or at least willing to spread his wings.
I watch in surprise as he reaches for a sugar encrusted stick, and start to stop him 'that's…'
'I know.' He smiles, and then takes a bite out of the cricket's head. 'Could use a bit less sugar'. He takes my hand again and we continue walking through the market.
"Are you ready?" Jonas brings me out of my thoughts and I look up to see that we've arrived back at the hotel. His eyes sparkle as he waits for me to get out of the car.
"I'm ready," I take his hand, interlacing our fingers. Jo might not be my 'perfect match' he's introspective and closed off, but he embodies four out of the five qualities, and there ain't no other man who does that for me.