Thursday, April 11, 2013

The Frenchwoman By the Pool

Her bosom was ample.

Her skin was brown, tanned-not taut, she was clearly in her mid forties, perhaps even edging closer to fifty. Her bosom was large but not fake, clearly showing some of the ravages of time-perhaps from nursing, or perhaps just the merciless touch of gravity that locates us as we age.

Her bathing suit was a bikini, but not a revealing one. It was purple, and it completely complemented her olive, tanned skin colour. Her voice was low, perhaps due to the cigarettes-and as she smoked she didn't look cheap but rather alluring.

Her kids fluttered by and asked for money for ice cream and she said, in French-hued Hebrew to go ahead and buy ice cream and enjoy. She was not bothered about where they might go after-she asked not a single question about their whereabouts. She focused on her tan, straightened her ankle bracelet.

Again, all these ingredients on a younger woman could appear slutty, but on the Moroccan Jewish Frenchwoman by the pool they were mesmerizing. She was sexier than all of the younger women at the pool and I found her fascinating. I didn't speak to her, but just quietly watched. She was confidently sexual, but not in an overt way. Just the most natural way possible. Not overdone, her allure was just a matter of fact. She didn't need fancy hair, sparkly clothes, fake nails or silicone lips or breasts.

It was a remarkable thing to watch-even if only for a few poolside seconds. Were that more women could emulate her natural femininity-both men and women would be a lot happier.