The Proverbial War

I realized that I'd stopped breathing at the appearance of the hand. Breath made its way back in and shakily I turned to press my back up against the lower cupboard doors.

The man was as imposing and ultra-masculine as the hand and arm I had seen had been. He wasn't looking at me as he poured both glasses full from a nearby pitcher of water.

He was easily over six feet in height and I didn't like how far up I had to look, as it only made me feel more intensely aware of my short stature.

Instead of being lean, along with the extra height as a lot of tall men were, he wasn't. Oh he was fit, but the muscles and large bone structure that filled out his tall frame just said big with a capitol B.

He wore blue jeans that had frayed holes in them that looked like they'd gotten there through hard work and not bought over-the-counter pre-distressed. The white T-shirt he wore stretched out over the wide expanse of his chest hugging all the dips and hollows of his muscles.

A riotous amount of black curly hair covered his arms and spilled out of the top of his T-shirt in a ring around his neck that echoed to the fact that he was likely extremely hairy all over. His jaw was square and reflected the raw power that the rest of his frame only emphasized.

His hair was black and he was in need of a haircut. He had a shadow of a beard that probably took most men a week to grow, but had only taken him a day or two. In short he exuded maleness in a way that modern men of the city and urban spheres of life had long since lost in favor of cultured features and crisp linen suits.

The unwanted realization of this midnight encounter with a man from some bygone era of warriordom were all starting to add up to something. A silent scream of 'NO!!!' went off in my head repeatedly; even as a response more deep and powerful that seemed to reflect the essence of what I was made of let off an affirming, 'Yes!!!'

I almost started crying.

I covered my panic, brought on by this strange encounter with a male in the night, by martialling my will to keep my face unreadable of my inner turmoil. The man turned hard slate gray eyes to me and held out one of the glasses of water silently.

Water?

Suddenly I remembered that I had been thirsty. I took the glass and mumbled out a thank you.