How could she be such a goddess, I do not know.
Everyday I saw Cecilia at the university, she seemed different than other girls. She was nonchalant, extremely slender and lanky, almost like those modern mannequinnes, that transform the current ideals of beauty into hard wood which lullies the buyer with it's wonderful clothes.
But she was no doll, and that exactly seemed so desirable about her. When she walked down the hallway she seemed to fly high through the air scented by the best parfumes in the world. With the best of education she aimed at the best spots in the commerce sphere, but in my eyes she already was more than human. Looking at all of us from her high legs, the inner strength of the girl could be sensed miles away through the gleam of the look of her deep piercing eyes.
She was not 'cute' nor was her face 'good-looking', but there was something about the strength of her personality that seemed to permeate every aspect of her body, making what was already elegant into an exquisite piece of art, which, if crafted by someone higher than her, must have been done by the ultimate Prometheus, the maker of gods, highest of the universe. But still, with her ambition she seemed to be the best of competition of her potential creator, a girl that was destined to seduce and overrule the whole of mankind, thus being the ultimate impersonation of the glorious womanhood.
Everytime I casually chatted with her, I felt like the subordinate male I should be, and even when she playfully smiled at me or when we shared a common joke, I could feel the lust growing inside me, as invariably as the force of gravity grows when you approach a black hole, the great enchanter of light itself.
One night, I dreamt I sat in a great lounge, reading a great book about the mysteries of life. As it usually goes, the details of the dream, even the reasonings themselves are hidden beneath a blanket of beauty, in the vast whiteness of the seas of mysticism. Somehow we had a break in school and in came Cecilia. She laid herself down on the comfortable sofa and plopped her legs, broken from her flats, right beside me. I felt blessed as I was chosen to be the one to be only few inches away from her glorious feet, encased in bright green socks with dirt all over the soles. I could see the outline of her foot and inhale the light scent.
Just as the rest of her body, the feet weren't exactly beautiful and wouldn't probably be described as so by a newcomer or by someone who only had a picture of the lowest part of her body. But it was precisely that aspect of her, that nonchalance in her normality transformed into the fullness of beauty, that was fascinating even to those who didn't see the inner strength that curved the spacetime around her.
She didn't acknowledge me as she casually played on her phone, and therefore I could immerse myself in the study of her soles and every piece of lump and pellet that I could see when I strained my eyes.
Suddenly a great wealth of voices flooded the empty hall, and I heard many words of bliss higher than that of luxury or fame, the great state of exaltion when serving to the highest of beings. The stories of all the other males who witnessed the great attractor that Cecilia was and upon whom the goddess found mercy and allowed them to be her slaves. Such tales permeated every atom of my being and filled me with great anticipation and fiery lust. I listened with the ear closed to her feet and filled my soul with every bit of servitude and felt myself giving out my deep, as of yet undeclared and hidden love to her as she just laid there, her face engrossed with some game.
As it always is with dreams like this, in the moment of the greatest stress and heart-beating comes the relief of waking-up. I saw the sun was already high in the sky and I sensed stretching of the legs. Only then I realized, that I was transformed into a part of one of the threads on the bright green socks of Cecilia, constituting with thousands like myself just a square inch of the fabric of the sole of her dirty sock, to swallow up dirt and serve under the goddess Cecilia in her path to victory, perhaps once to be dedicated one silent thought of the goddess, one single commendation of the ultimate mistress of all men. Until then, I would lovingly serve as the infinitesimal part of one of her very dirty socks, living a life of great love and happiness sucking up the dirt for her and drinking tiny amounts of her sweat, when she chose to wear me. Living beneath the goddess I was created for.