Somewhere in the last six, almost seven decades, I’ve learned that when people walk, there is a movement of air that follows the person. This isn’t a theory because I’ve smelled some of the loveliest perfume after a woman has gone by. This usually happens about two or three seconds after she passes me. It’s like the wake of a ship in the water, only this is a wake of air. Looking aft on a ship or even a small boat, the vessel churns the water that is behind the boat. That churning water is the wake. We can’t see the air moving behind a person walking from one place to another but we can both feel it and in some cases, smell it. Based on this information, I wish to present the following. I know this to be true because I have also discovered in my almost seven decades, that I’m not the only man who does this. There are others with whom I have spoken and there must be many others with whom I have not spoken.

A woman does not have to be overly pretty, outlandishly attired or adorned, nor insidiously adorable to be attractive. She does need, however, a spirit within her that draws people to her as any human being has who can draw others to him or her. That is attraction. It’s not the law of attraction, it’s human attraction. Some people, both men and women, are human magnets; they have the ability to attract or draw others to them. There is just something rather unusual or extraordinary about such a person. Most of us have met at least one person like that in our life time.

On various occasions, I may be standing somewhere in public, leaning against a wall, waiting by a table, standing by a chair or a post or something, and an attractive woman will be walking towards me. I watch her, trying to be nonchalant and not stare, trying hard not to make her nervous or uncomfortable. Yet, she is the kind of woman who attracts male attention wherever she goes. She ‘turns heads’ when she walks. Her walk is like that of an angel; that when she puts a foot down on the surface upon which she is walking, I could put my hand under her foot and not feel the weight of her body. Her walk is that perfect. She doesn’t walk; she glides, smoothly, flawlessly. Every beautifully coordinated movement is sheer poetry. She must be aware that every male in seeing distance is looking at her. But this is the kind of woman who is not arrogant about her looks; no, she is reserved but not shy, certainly not forward. Her reservedness is a compliment to her.

She is attired simply, not extravagantly. Her clothing is like whipped topping on the most delicious cake. She dresses not to kill, not for attention, rather because this is who she is; I have no doubt that if she wore old jeans and a tee shirt, she would look just as lovely as when she would wear an evening gown. The only apparent adornments may be earrings and possibly a ring. Her physical appearance is that of complete, absolute and total perfection. She is too perfect for my imperfect dreams. It is this woman who walks by me, close enough for me to number the hairs of her head; this woman disturbing the air as she glides along, who passes me and as she does, I inhale through my nose, as if to vacuum in every iota, each atom and molecule of her essence, that she will be with me for eternity in my lungs and the oxygen in my bloodstream, living in my heart and brain: and then, the spirit of her wake. The secret of her beauty and the mystery of her soul are as intriguing to me as they must be to other men. In mere seconds as she was drawing near me, I studied and memorized every inch of her; Every curve and detail of her face are indelibly imprinted in my memory. And then I wonder if anyone else knows what I’m doing.