Post by PhilBertrand on Feb 23, 2014 21:14:01 GMT -6
He awakened to tackle the new day in his Calvin Klein silk pajamas, then escaped the mummification created by his satin sheets to roll off his Sealy Posturepedic Mattress that always gave him the impression that he was slumbering on a cloud. He enjoyed the level of comfortability it afforded him. It made him feel refreshed.
“You are to die for, Philippe.” He smiled lightheartedly before standing up to slide into a genuine luxury paisley robe. Like a man void of any worries he saunters into the bathroom. He stared into the mirror, and immediately became invigorated and enthralled by his masterful visage. His chiseled face was a work of art, and his reflection, mere Da Vinci Esque in delicacy and exquisiteness. Turning on the faucet, he slips into his marble coated shower, caressing his delicate frame with a desentizer lotion, then with African black soap, and finally a purifying acne cleanser with exfoliating beads that leaves my countenance with a tingling sensation that tells me its working. Next there’s my Herbal Essence shampoo and conditioner to give my heavenly locks a smooth, crisp feel and cleanses my follicles of impurities like dirt and dandruff.
After drying off he lotions his body down to seal in the moisture, then slips into his Dolce and Gabbana boxer briefs with the striped jersey design. He’s letting his hair air dry today; he’s going for his lazy, relaxed look.
Now in his dressing quarters he opens his closet, peering inside its contents to determine what look he’ll be sporting for this particular occasion. Burberry, a fine choice. It’s a slim fit design, cut from rich virgin wool. Inspired by traditional tailoring, with a sartorial pick-stitch detail to complete the delicate, debonair ensemble. The suits unfathomable elegance is only augmented by the a short closely fitted jacket that shapes to the body - tight enough that it reinforces my athletic physique yet it gives me enough room for to navigate through the free world at my leisure. The trousers are just as impressive in regards to the fine craftsmanship; narrowed, tapered and flat fronted containing a sharp crease at the leg, a concealed hook, bar and zip closure along with unfinished hems. And the tie, oh the tie. Yes of course how could he forget the hand finished microdot silk tie that was wove on a rare artisan loom in Italy. It was classic in fashion, and contained a unique gauze-like weave and textured finish. And now the shoes, a pair of Cordovan Unlined Penny Loafers.
He brushes back his hair and looks into his large mirror, placing his Citizen Eco Drive Palidoro watch on his wrist. “You look beautiful today, Philippe.”
***************************************************************
“I am so beautiful, am I not?” He inquired rhetorically and self-assuredly, admiring himself in front of the camera. “My mother told me I was handsome, why would she lie to me?” He questioned the camera as he gingerly washed his hands over his smooth, moisturized face. “But, but, the world is sooo ugly.” He says shaking his head, his soul filled with feelings of despondency due his understanding of the grotesque nature of the world. That’s the usual disposition of superficial people. “C'est triste vraiment. Je ne peux pas croire que Dieu créerait ces gens laids, quand il a pris son temps pour me faire, sa plus belle création.” He sucks his teeth, and twitches his nose up snobbishly before looking away from the camera ponderously.
“Payton James, do you think you’re beautiful?” He wondered, looking away from the camera once again as he pondered. “I don’t think you are.” He grinned condescendingly. “How could you be, when you wear all of that makeup and mascara? God has painted your face in a specific fashion, yet you go out of your way to alter his work of art. Are you ashamed of how you look? Do you feel inadequate about your physical features? Is your self-esteem that low that you would go as far as to redraw his picture? Sacré Bleu.” He sighed, taking a serious tone as his eyes descend to the floor. “But I will make you beautiful!” He exclaimed triumphantly, raising a finger to intimate his purpose. “The best art is the type of creativity that transcends normalcy, and lives on forever through out time. I will make you memorable Payton.” He smiled and nodded to himself. “I will give you the chance to be gorgeous, because the moment will live on forever in it’s uttermost perfection.” He smiled serenely, the look in his eyes one of self-assurance, yet sincerity. He wholeheartedly believed that he could give her a level of allurance and elegance that would live on in infamy, and would never deteriorate.
“I look very much forward to the opportunity to make you the most beautiful woman in the world on that night. I’ll give you what you want… to be a Princess. A Queen. A Madonna. I’ll give your close up, and the dejection that follows your defeat will make you beautiful to me.”
“You will be mine.”
“You are to die for, Philippe.” He smiled lightheartedly before standing up to slide into a genuine luxury paisley robe. Like a man void of any worries he saunters into the bathroom. He stared into the mirror, and immediately became invigorated and enthralled by his masterful visage. His chiseled face was a work of art, and his reflection, mere Da Vinci Esque in delicacy and exquisiteness. Turning on the faucet, he slips into his marble coated shower, caressing his delicate frame with a desentizer lotion, then with African black soap, and finally a purifying acne cleanser with exfoliating beads that leaves my countenance with a tingling sensation that tells me its working. Next there’s my Herbal Essence shampoo and conditioner to give my heavenly locks a smooth, crisp feel and cleanses my follicles of impurities like dirt and dandruff.
After drying off he lotions his body down to seal in the moisture, then slips into his Dolce and Gabbana boxer briefs with the striped jersey design. He’s letting his hair air dry today; he’s going for his lazy, relaxed look.
Now in his dressing quarters he opens his closet, peering inside its contents to determine what look he’ll be sporting for this particular occasion. Burberry, a fine choice. It’s a slim fit design, cut from rich virgin wool. Inspired by traditional tailoring, with a sartorial pick-stitch detail to complete the delicate, debonair ensemble. The suits unfathomable elegance is only augmented by the a short closely fitted jacket that shapes to the body - tight enough that it reinforces my athletic physique yet it gives me enough room for to navigate through the free world at my leisure. The trousers are just as impressive in regards to the fine craftsmanship; narrowed, tapered and flat fronted containing a sharp crease at the leg, a concealed hook, bar and zip closure along with unfinished hems. And the tie, oh the tie. Yes of course how could he forget the hand finished microdot silk tie that was wove on a rare artisan loom in Italy. It was classic in fashion, and contained a unique gauze-like weave and textured finish. And now the shoes, a pair of Cordovan Unlined Penny Loafers.
He brushes back his hair and looks into his large mirror, placing his Citizen Eco Drive Palidoro watch on his wrist. “You look beautiful today, Philippe.”
***************************************************************
“I am so beautiful, am I not?” He inquired rhetorically and self-assuredly, admiring himself in front of the camera. “My mother told me I was handsome, why would she lie to me?” He questioned the camera as he gingerly washed his hands over his smooth, moisturized face. “But, but, the world is sooo ugly.” He says shaking his head, his soul filled with feelings of despondency due his understanding of the grotesque nature of the world. That’s the usual disposition of superficial people. “C'est triste vraiment. Je ne peux pas croire que Dieu créerait ces gens laids, quand il a pris son temps pour me faire, sa plus belle création.” He sucks his teeth, and twitches his nose up snobbishly before looking away from the camera ponderously.
“Payton James, do you think you’re beautiful?” He wondered, looking away from the camera once again as he pondered. “I don’t think you are.” He grinned condescendingly. “How could you be, when you wear all of that makeup and mascara? God has painted your face in a specific fashion, yet you go out of your way to alter his work of art. Are you ashamed of how you look? Do you feel inadequate about your physical features? Is your self-esteem that low that you would go as far as to redraw his picture? Sacré Bleu.” He sighed, taking a serious tone as his eyes descend to the floor. “But I will make you beautiful!” He exclaimed triumphantly, raising a finger to intimate his purpose. “The best art is the type of creativity that transcends normalcy, and lives on forever through out time. I will make you memorable Payton.” He smiled and nodded to himself. “I will give you the chance to be gorgeous, because the moment will live on forever in it’s uttermost perfection.” He smiled serenely, the look in his eyes one of self-assurance, yet sincerity. He wholeheartedly believed that he could give her a level of allurance and elegance that would live on in infamy, and would never deteriorate.
“I look very much forward to the opportunity to make you the most beautiful woman in the world on that night. I’ll give you what you want… to be a Princess. A Queen. A Madonna. I’ll give your close up, and the dejection that follows your defeat will make you beautiful to me.”
“You will be mine.”