Dream Man

You love everything about him, his crew cut hair, his mocha coloured eyes. The way he smiles when he looks at you, as if you're the only person who exists. You love his body, defined arms, a washboard stomach with a sun tattoo around his belly button and a ring through his nipple. He's a pirate, a rock star, a bad boy. He's the type your mother warned you about, but you fall in love with him anyway.

He puts his hand around your waist when you're out, showing you off to the world, daring other men to look and be jealous. He's the perfect gentlemen, and then when you arrive home, he turns into the pirate, wanting to pillage your treasures. He picks you up and playfully throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the bed - or nearest avaliable spot and pleasures you in ways you never thought possible.

He's a real man, ready to defend your honour at the drop of a hat. He's a tough guy, known not to shy away from a fight, but peel away the tough exterior and you'll find that he's sensitive, and just as ready to curl up on the couch with you as he is to test out the new bed.

He's my dream man. He's got to exist. Doesn't he?