First Meeting with the General's Daughter

You might want to ask what in the world a rough-hewn son of a peasant wanted to do with a General’s daughter but the absolute optimist strongly believes no girl is above his station. So on that Thursday evening, she had dragged the teetotaller to a kinky bar without even trying. Her mysteriousness and the emotiveness of her astonishing writings had pulled him to her like a magnet. 

So there she was, a sad-faced girl with big, bright—no, haunting eyes, and a massive mouth that peremptorily ordered him to take off his “T” baseball cap so she could clearly see his face. And when she had done, she smiled a roguish smile that dug dimples in her bronzed cheeks and affirmed he sure was the guy on his blog profile picture.

Now it was Daniel’s turn to examine her. She’s short but the spike heels made her not too short. And the charcoal-black pair of compact jeans vertical-ised her butt so much that he concluded, quickly, that if physical beauty is embodied by great curves and wide hips on a slender figure, complete with effeminate daintiness,  this pony-tailed girl with the ample bosom and a stomach to match, was far from the embodiment!

Yet, the dreaminess in her eyes said she could light up your room when Umeme strikes again, and the firmness of her mouth whispered it was capable of passionate things that could drive a man insane. But Daniel was only interested in was her mind; that large head was certainly not swelling with sentimentalities from Mexican soap operas but intellectual substance from her wide travels and countless books she had devoured. 

After the introductions, Daniel sat down in a corner and quietly nursed a cold Coke. When the straw whinged, he stepped over again to say goodbye and goodnight to the heroine, who was now sandwiched between two men that were literally hanging on her witty lines.  

Soon, Daniel was in his way, way home. The night was nonchalant, and the luminance from streetlights made his shadow unusually picturesque. He walked on like a philosopher on one of his mandatory constitutionals, many things wandering about in his mind, but not intense enough to obscure his resolve to win the confidence of the blogger he had finally met at the kinky bar; the General’s daughter whose burning writings he had devoured for two years and could still not get enough of.