I noticed him right away when I first met him in our Paris office, months ago. He is the prototype of a rare type of man, I like to call “Le Charmeur”. I’ve meet perhaps a handful of these in my life. Recently, I was fortunate enough to spend time with him again at a company event lasting several days. He fit the profile perfectly.
Le Charmeur is characterized by pretty average looks; not intimidatingly handsome but approachable. His nose might be a bit too big for his face or his chin weak, or he might be a tad chubby. At first glance you might miss it but you will soon realize that his face is actually interesting, imperfect as it is, or his body strong and with rythm. He is usually charming more than sexy.
Aw hell, but definetely sexy.
He zooms in on your eyes when you talk to him; completely present: only yours. During conversation he might touch your arm; not too long, just to underline that he is still with you; he might say something with self-irony and then wink at you. He will laugh wholeheartedly at your jokes and make sure your glass is always full, your chair pulled in and out and that you are in want of nothing. Except more.
If you should be so fortunate to meet him at a party, you might suddenly find yourself looking into his very large eyes, as he is standing over you with his hand reached out, smiling. He leads the way to the dance floor and of course he’s got the moves. With authority, he takes the lead and pulls you, pushes you, swirls you; always catching you again, his hands guiding you in the direction he wants.
While you are the center of his universe, he still manges to flirt with every other woman in his vincinity; keeping his options open. All done so tastefully that you don’t mind.
He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He just is like that.
His name was Rémy. The French accent did not hurt one bit.
Not one bit.
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