I looked into young Caesar’s eyes and felt a tightness in my chest. Surely every woman carries an image in her mind of what perfect masculine beauty is. For me, this boy epitomized it. And yet I had seen other handsome men and felt little. Now there was a prickling in my skin. I was aware of the sun beating down, of how the fabric of my stola clung to my body, of how my hair felt, warm on the back of my neck. I wanted to reach out and stroke young Caesar’s cheek, very gently, to see if it felt as smooth as it looked. I wished I had an amusing story to tell him, so I could watch him laugh.
