The Gospel According to Sheletha

There is something about him...I'm not sure what it is, but a man with dreadlocks is my current obsession.

Don't get me wrong, I still love a cut close fresh fade, or straight-up, clean bald head to palm in my hand. But those natural locks have been catching my eye as of late.

I'm not talking about the ganja smokin, gin drinkin type dude with dreads. His are almost repulsive because his hair reeks of smoke and the last thing he killed and ate.

I'm thinking of that chocolate brotha...clean and sophisticated. Hair that smells of natural juices and berries, cared for in the most special way.

Is he as sensual as my mind makes him out to be?

Is he artistic and cultured as the next Renaissance man?

Does he have the strength of a modern day Samson?

Is he gentle, yet strong?

Is he patient and kind?

Oh how I just want to hug him with his arms around my waist and his hair falling in my face with my senses overloaded by his undeniable masculinity.

I don't know him, but I see him, either in a custom made suit or t-shirt and jeans. Walking around town or the mall. I'm amazed that he can't hear my quickened heartbeat when he comes near. This man moooooooves me to think naughty, nasty, freaky things.

This epitome of a man doesn't even know I exist. It's okay, because one day...I may get me my own luscious-lipped dreaded black man, until then I'll fantasize from afar.