A bit of spit hit his face as she raged on about his responsibilities and her expectations. He sat stiff, poised, and perfectly still, bracing himself for the inevitable. It came swift and harder than he expected. As the metallic taste of blood soured on his tongue, he focused on keeping his balled fists beneath the table. People were watching.
“Dress” me up as a gentleman. Lord knows I have the vocabulary. The wits. The charm. But the right color skin and these troublesome ovaries? Kind of killing the deal here. Who only knows how far this sort of “gentleman” would go were “he” the actual epitome of the dominant brand though.
You know, if he were truly as refined as a brand from the top shelf. Alas, I’m not such an elegant creature. Full of these “quieter” and “softer” virtues. No. There’s a difference between affectations and the reality of which I’m all too aware. So you’ll forgive me if I’ve been harden against the idea of that an exquisitely well-behaved one keeps up the appearance 100% of the time. Even in the facade there are seams to read. Lines that betray a tell.
A tender kiss,
A glass of champagne,
A bouquet of roses,
A flamboyant love affair
to please everyone.
You are a stranger,
Handsomely clad in a tuxedo.
That the crowd gapes at.
“What a gentleman”, “You must be lucky”,
they say to me.
Beneath my skin lay your scars,
The trashing of your words.
“Indeed he is” I say,
Slowly, I walk away.
The gentleman that I am, I thought I was doing the right thing when I offered to escort the lady to the elevator. How wrong could I be, after The lady let it be know that we have nothing in common and that I am not in her league.
Hi hands smelt like cigarettes, stained and his heart soaked in booze. He pushed the door open for me. Such a gentleman.
He was a gentleman, or at least believed that what he did was. Others would defiantly say other, but he thought he was being a true gentlemen. He looked dapper-
Gentle man has to be gentle.. why people are not always gentle?.. probably I should ask not so gentleman about gentleness. My father is a gentleman. A truly gentle creature. I admire him for that. I wish my husband
The gentleman sat with his leg crossed at the bar looking at her from the corner of his eye. He didn’t think she saw him but she did, and she smiled and he actually blushed.
There he stood, watching me carefully. He had shadow on his chin up to his ears and his blue eyes that would stare straight into your soul. This gentleman was not like any gentleman I have seen in my life at all.
always looks for ways
to make her life easier
subtle means of humble praise
soften the blow of her life’s frequent
sways and crashes
her welfare is a prime directive
a part of you that’s
Gerry poured every fibre of his being,
From the day he hit puberty,
Until the day the life slowly slipped from his body,
Into the art
Of being a gentle man.
He raised his voice only once,
At a fly that had entered his home,
And the force of his wrath shattered its wings,
And sent it plummeting to its doom.
And Gerry died.
Absent of passion,
With all his emotions and fears buried deep inside,
And no one ever knew his true nature.
He was a gentle man. One with soft hands, but a hard heart. One he kept carefully wrapped in perfect cellophane on display but never to touch.
his gloves were white in a fashion almost unnerving. he was the ideal, the pinnacle of genteel society; teacup and top hat and all. he was graceful. he was polite but appropriately witty. he was skilled in the art of fencing; he was learned in ancient greek. he was sick of it all.
“He was a perfect gentleman!”
Elizaveth scoffed, “You say that like it’s a GOOD thing,” she protested, “‘That beast is far too wild for you, my lady’. ‘Surely you don’t understand the issues at hand, my lady’. ‘Allow me to assist you, my lady’. Bah!”
“Would you rather have to do everything yourself?”
“If that’s what it took for people to stop assuming I’m incapable of lifting something as heavy as an OPINION, then yes, I would. And gladly, too.”
The gentleman was well dressed. Not a crack in his gaberdine armor. He walked down the street, perfectly composed, seemingly oblivious to the recent rainfall. He was so well composed that a pigeon crapping on his head couldn’t stop him.
I-I-I I’m a, I-I-I I’m a
I-I-I I’m a, mother-father-gentleman
A gentleman may be a thing of the past, for sure it must have a different meaning than it did in my grandmothers youth. They are still there, instead of pulling the chair out for you they respect the decision to wait on a family for your career and love you even when you’re hormonal which would have been cast aside in my grandmother’s day.
“He is NOT a gentleman!”
Daisy and Doreen looked up, and Kendall thought them fishlike with their mouths hanging open, forks raised towards mouths.
“What?” said one.
The words split through Kendall, like fire: “Jason Lastname is not a gentleman.” She said this low and close to Daisy’s face. Just before Kendall turned and strode away, she saw Daisy reach up to wipe a fleck of spit from her cheek.
let’s not have a scene, eh?
i just cleaned the floor and jesus christ
i think the way a man walks
is fucking stupid.
and there is a speck on the floor that i’d rather be looking at.
He had the look down: refined and classy, not a line out of place on that clothing … nor on that body. Perfect smile, perfect laugh, perfectly acceptable meaningless responses in polite conversation that meant nothing and went nowhere.
On the outside, he had it all together. On the outside, he was a perfect gentleman.
On the inside he was a monster.