It’s uncanny how I can feel him before he walks into the room. My heart lurches and my pulse quickens.

Then, I see him. The center of attention, hugging the ladies, shaking hands with and giving slaps on the back to the men. Everyone wants to touch him…to have him turn his golden-brown eyes and flashing smile their direction.



I wait. He will eventually see me. I will get my turn to touch the golden one. His entourage follows in a flurry. They all know their jobs. It’s been practiced and honed over the years. The short man with long hair and eagle eyes stays close to him, ever watchful. As if anyone would want to hurt this gorgeous being. Not in a million years. Not in this crowd.

He’s making his way around the room. Flashing his pearly white smile, hugging, kissing and posing.

Then in front of me, there she is. The perfect specimen of a woman. Beautiful blonde hair falling around her slim shoulders, the perfect body,  and perfect poise. Her spun silk tunic, rare jewels draped around her neck, and soft leather sandals leave no doubt she is a woman with money accustomed to the finest things it can buy.

Roman Woman

He sees her. Everyone else is forgotten. It’s all about her.  I watch the exchange and feel a gnawing jealousy start to grow. I want to be that woman. I want to be the one that is capturing his attention.

A part of me wants to run, but I am glued to my seat.

Here he comes!

He hugs this beautiful woman and they chat for a minute. Then he turns to make his way to the stage and there I am.

He reaches out for me. “How are you?”

“I’m well, Thank you.” I savor the embrace and my breasts tingle and harden against the rough fabric of my tunic.

He kisses me on the cheek. “It’s good to see you.” He continues on his way.

Inside, I scream. “Don’t you remember? Did it mean nothing to you?”

Outwardly, I smile and nod to the rest of the entourage.

What was that one night all about? But, before I ask the question, I know the answer. For me, it was the chance to have this beautiful specimen of a man all to myself for a few hours.

For him, convenience.

I should be ashamed of my shallowness, but I’m not. I should be ashamed of his shallowness, but I’m not.

He picks up his Lute and strums. Everything else fades away and the music takes over.

He works the crowd like he always does. He smiles and points to individuals in the audience as he is performing. It’s a well-rehearsed show that he’s done hundreds of times. Everyone feels like they are a part of him, happy to bask in his glow.

I look around the filled room. All eyes are on the golden god. Women sit slack-mouthed. Men smile and chug their ale. The magical dance of entertainer and audience has begun. Shadows deepen around the stone walls as merriment rises to a crescendo.

Every woman grows wet just fantasizing about one moment alone with him. The men wait, knowing their reward awaits…knowing they’ll be the ones to try and fill the ladies’ fantasies at the end of the night.

All know their parts to play in the dance.

And me? I’m the observer. I can see it all unfold, almost as if watching a play. Disconnected, I sway to the sensual notes that flow from the golden one’s Lute, caught in his spell.

My breath hitches in my throat when he flashes a smile in my direction. But in an instant, that breath turns to a choking lump when I realize it isn’t me he’s smiling at. It’s her.

I let horrid scenarios form in my mind. I could follow her and kill her. I could push her from a ledge and pretend it was an accident. I want with all of my being to destroy her.

I want him with all of my being.

It’s never to be, foolish one. You are not worthy. You are not good enough.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and glance up to see a handsome young man extending his hand asking for a dance. I smile and stand. Floating across the room in his arms, I watch the golden one. Will he notice? Will he care?

“You are the most beautiful woman here tonight,” the handsome young man whispers in my ear.

“Are you an Angel?” I ask.

A smile turns up the corners of his full mouth. “That is for you to find out.”

I melt into his strong arms. Perhaps he is an Angel. Perhaps divine intervention has seen fit to soothe my ragged and worn soul, to boost my self-worth.

Whatever it is, I will take it. I cast one last glance at the golden one and suddenly I see him for what he is. A frightened insecure man in a beautiful body with that being his only attribute. Now, I’m sad for him, for her, and for all the ladies dreaming of him between their legs. I see it for the emptiness that it is.

I’m dancing. Jealousy has flown, and I am beautiful. I am desirable. Thank you, my saving Angel!

**I dedicate this short story to every woman in the world who has ever suffered insecurity or self-doubt. May a beautiful Angel always come to your rescue!**