An Ode to Redheads

At lunch today with David and PolyFulcrum (PF), I recounted a few of my past partners and concluded that I've an extraordinary attraction to redheads.

You see, I think there was this programming going all the way back to pre-teen years and finding Velma of ScoobyDoo rather desirable; the redhead librarian (jinkies!). Then there was Molly Ringwald, Julianne Moore, Julia Roberts, and Milla Jovovich: all caught in the naughty subliminal loops of teen masturbation. I ended up with some heavy crushes in high school and one of them was a redhead to the core; she was a hard one to let go. Then there were the rash of former girlfriends and wives with red hair - I counted four today at lunch and that includes PF. Woops. Five. Forgot about Gretchen.

So, anyway, I had to ask myself: what is it about the redhead? Yes, what is it about the breed that captures my attention? Out of the real-world examples that I've had the pleasure of knowing, there are a couple of things that stand out.

1. Skin.

Porcelain white covered with darling freckles across their shoulders, up the side of their neck and down their arms, maybe dotting their noses and running across their thighs or small of their back. Ravishing. The contrast between their neckline and their hair - particularly if cut in a European Bob - is exquisite yet I'm not quick to discount the idea of collapsing red locks across soft creamy complexion. Nothing is as perfect as watching her asleep, pacing her soft breath, with bright crimson shot across her brow, down her cheeks. Like finger paint. Simply devastating.

2. Intelligence and Witt.

I've found that the redhead possesses a keen intellect. Every redhead that I've dated has inspired me and has engaged me in meaningful conversation, and they've had a stunning sense of humor. It's not purely academic though - sometimes their smarts are subtle and more of a culmination of informed practical perspectives.  The redhead is engaging and maybe she knows it; flaunts it more than the blonde or the brunette. Some of my most fondest memories are holding her, from behind, and mounds of red hair up all in my face, while she reads or tells me about her day, or as she reexamined her actions in the past.  Conversation in red.

3. Eyes.

Contrast the white complexion, the stark red of her hair, and the bright ruby glare of her lips, and between all that, the redhead looks at you - penetrates you - with a stare that peels away whatever skin you had at the time: over-confidence, zeal, insecurity. It's the tiny little stares as she glances upward from a wine glass, their brilliance when she's laughing, or, their sheer depth when you sink into her pools of blue, hazel, or green. The redhead's eyes are intoxicating: the essence of her and who she has yet to become is so revealed.

4. Drive, Power, Sexuality.

I adore the redhead because of their outspokenness, their penchant for achievement, and their intense sense of sexuality and sexual presence. All of the redheaded women that I've dated thoroughly enjoyed sex (well, all but one, but I fear she lost her drive for other reasons) and reveled in private times together; it's when they let their guard down, and let themselves be who they are. Personally, I'm attracted to power - I love it when a woman commands a room, or, demands attention just by her voice, or, with her substance, her hair, or her legs; when she strives to do the things that fulfills her; when she achieves the little milestones or the major accomplishments. It's not about money. It's the power of their will; forces of nature.

5. Sensitivity.

Finally, every redhead that I've ever met loved to touch and be touched, and was moved with poetry, sensitive expression, meaningful exchanges, distant views, and thoughtful gifts. For all of her flaws, my ex-wife was one of the most sensitive people that I had ever met which, unfortunately, brought her to highly emotional and vulnerable states and then she'd collapse into the relative security of being angry or frustrated. With the redhead, every caress is felt, like, ripples across a still pond, and she responds like no other. Not the blonde who giggles or writhes like she's being tickled; not the brunette whose thoughts always seem absent, elsewhere; the redhead shudders: she trembles and she shakes.

Curious that the redhead is the most rare of hair colors among women: nature's unique expression; genetic works of art. And sure, maybe you can buy a bit of color these days - paint the carpet the same color as the drapes - but that doesn't make the head red, for hers is the most disquieted of souls, unapologetic, immersed, and vulnerable. I think you can tell a real redhead long before you've undressed her - her secret's found in her stare.

s1m0n