"Would he appreciate it?" You wonder out loud . The whispers
in your ear tell you immediately that he does. He would appreciate
it as he thinks of your soft breath, flickering amongst the dark roses of
his thoughts. He would wake to listen to the far sea of your trembling
form as the image of your body whitens and swallows the stars of his domestic
zeal. If he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, could
you suppress that giggle? He really might wish that he had glanced behind
him each time you entered the room, rather than focusing on the typed
script in front of him. His works had lain in abeyance for so long that you
could both feel the cobwebs clinging to the times new roman pica. You press
your hands over his eyes and his block will be fully fledged, personified
physically, by your teasing hands.
Do your hands cover up his lost inspiration? Where had it gone? Create! He only wished that he could. The writer's block had him in its hands and he sat there unsure as to exactly why he was unable to visualise the words to follow in his script or the woman to inspire them. He had wished for your presence out loud and now you were there, with that inimicable rustling wisp of silk and the gentle bare foot treading softly across the room . There you were, but other than a sidelong glance that caught the green hem of your dress, he could observe nothing of you now. He could only guess as to how you really looked at that moment. Could you really inspire him out of this trough in his creativity? Or was this yet another forlorn hope? A fleeting anxiety led him to suspect you were just a mirage that would fade . When he reopened his eyes, he would find himself alone and shivering in the cool air, the slight breeze the only indication that you had ever been there.
You close your eyes in the certain expectation of the unexpected commentary that seeks never to be intrusive. It is a diatribe that sends you off on missions of the imagination to places of fantasy and intrigue. It is a discourse that shines bright on all the memories that you will have that can never be erased until he has experienced the shiny brilliance of sad teardrops in your eyes. You can shake your head and toss the thick mane of hair not wanting further tears for you may have cried enough. this is exactly the same way as the sun dries away the dampness and moisture from the cheeks of the earth after a rainstorm. In the designs of your mind you may smile without infatuation and stay and dream for a while. By all means extend heartfelt gratitude at the invitation and accept, closing your eyes and allowing stresses and anxieties to flow away, enabling you to look inside . Find the force of life, but play with him first.
Yes - he can feel your warm palms on his cheek, gently stroking his face and reinvigorating him. This was tangible and real. Closing his eyes, he abandoned his vain efforts to stare through the shady hollows of your cupped palms. He sighed, let his shoulders relax and sat back in his chair, slumping against the wooden frame of the furniture, wishing that he was slumping against the soft contours of your body instead. Feeling the silkiness of your clothing as you raised her arm to brush a hand across his forehead, he heard a further tinkle of laughter. It was then that you removed your hands from his eyes, leaving him blindfolded in reality by a chiffon scarf.
He could smell the slightly sweet perfume on this garment that had, unbeknownst to him, so recently decorated your neck. Inhaling the heady aroma as you fingers ran playfully through his hair, he felt you teasing out the softness in his curls. He leant his head forward, giving you better access to the soft fine hairs on the back of his neck. You readily availed yourrself of the proferred flesh, running a finger down the nape to his open shirt collar, sliding under his shirt, over the warm shoulder blade and finally down to stroke the gentle hollow of his upper chest. You heard the suppressed rumbled of an appreciative murmur in his larynx as you leant over his shoulder to kiss him, just below the chin.
Your tongue can slide out of your red mouth to lick and tease his exposed skin, imbibing the almost salty tang of his flesh. You had wondered if his lips would be sweeter, looking at their wetness and thickness. You suppressed the wicked temptation to play with them with her fingers. Much as you would delight in insulting their masculinity with babyish sounds, the effect would destroy the ephemeral sensuality of this moment. This was the instant in which you could possess him. This was the time when you could do and he would permit you to do as you wished. You would seize the opportunity to inspire his confidence, his delight and your own pleasure. Together you might create the words that he would soon, once again inscribe on the blank page lying in front of them both. This was a workbook that you would both fill at your leisure, after a languorous session of mutual excitation.
Allow your lashes to flutter shut as you enjoy the atmosphere. Close your eyes to open your mind, untethered by the gravity of bullying dominance. You are restrained only by a mad chase through the winding pathways of your mind, through forests and bracken, cross courtyards and conventions. You will find your way into the pleasant airy chamber reserved for your enjoyment, rest and refreshment. Look with your senses through a world where there are no picket fences to trammel your desires and designs. Here old drab clothes can be shed to allow you to clothe your form in silks and satins and the delicacy of these matching hues. You may frolic in the silken wardrobe of nature's provision as the band plays on and exotic dishes are served with a selection of astonishing sauces. There is a time and a place for such silvan dancing. Perhaps we shall create a corner that is all yours in this little space of nothingness in the framework of time. Dare to dream so lavish a dream. Dare to dare to rest by a babbling brook, where thick boughs conceal the maiden from unwanted eyes as she cavorts with eager satyrs and leaves them in a state of priapic agitation?
It did. Of course it did. Doesn't it always?
Delighted by the prospect of his loving creativity, you slipped into his lap and quickly pulled away the chiffon scarf. You watched his pupils dilate. He reminded you of a child gazing up into the trees in the sunlight. You fell forward deliberately, casting a shadow over his face. You broke that darkness with the warmth of the kiss that both of you had looked forward to since you had first entered the room. The melding of your lips led you to simultaneously close your eyes in self-absorption. You tried to recall the precise colour of his closed eyes and leant back teasingly against his desk, hoping that the sense of your rclining body would persuade him to open them again.
He stirred, jogging you and unbalanced, your elbow slipped. You knocked over a glass of water. The liquid flow seeped across the desk, before being absorbed in fine blotting paper, turning the pink to a dark absorbent blush. He looked down at the desk, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features as he pushed the lap top out of harm’s way. The faint flush of irritation on his cheeks, reflected the slight embarrassment at hy your clumsiness. His mood softened immediately, looking down at the damp and sticky blotting paper, turning a colour reminiscent of other delicacies that he would soon sample. He reached into the folds of your dress to feel it absorb her rising excitement. He pushed you back onto the desk and stood over you with proprietorial zeal, running his hand in an absent-minded way up and down your hip. You moaned involuntarily. This sound gave rise to mutual smiles and, in both your minds, the ghostly echoes of past laughter. His hands grasped your legs pulling them gently apart.........
.........Build these reveries in your tired head, as you float across fields in the mist towards a distant chateau. Tread the petals of soft wild flowers under your bare feet as you wend your way slowly to that chamber of delightful and enchanted dreams. Relax in the certitude of a self appointed guardian to safekeep your night through warm and watchful eyes. Let night drift gently into morning drifts lying in your bed of clover. Take solace in the fact that you is guarded and succoured into a melody to lighten the most sombre mood. Anticipate pleasures of a certain mutual merriment .
Who knows where those perambulating words may lead? To sentences perhaps.
Yet stay alert as you curtsy farewell knowing that you may never be
safe again from those avid drifting paragraphs.Know that as he bids you love
and light, sweet lady, and you take your leave, he is left with an awareness
of the emptiness that you leave, the hope of your return and above all, in
the remembrance of the times spent together, a distinct appreciation.
Click on the kiss to find more romance:
Click on the kiss to find more romance:
She could see the crescent moon through the willow's thick, shadowy foliage. In the distance she thought that she could hear the regular beat of unshod hooves as the ponies stirred in their paddock across the lake. They seemed, in her mind, to be as restless as she.
At that instant there was just her in the whole sleeping world. She struggled for that word - that word "love" that seemed far too short to describe the gamut of her mixed feelings. It had just four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that glittered down on her. She wished to fall into true sentiment, avoiding all fear. One word, one phrase might not be enough but it would have to do.
She really wanted to talk to him now, but her message would be lost in her solitude. She parted her mouth, but could only express herself in quiet and watchful silence at that moment, as she slipped up the lane towards the chateau. The sharp cry of owls in the darkness seemed to drown out any words even as they flew to her lips, leaving a tremor of thought flowing from her to him.
Enough of this tarrying, she decided, spurred on by the baying of wolves in the distant forest. She would not circle quietly round the house like a thief in the night. She had the key in her locket and the right of admission -- his agreement to be there for her.
The moon's blade cut through the night as she crossed the bridge and slid into the still dark courtyard. She reached the huge doors and looked for a moment at the engravings on the metal bars that held the wood firm. She reached up to touch the faerie on the door knocker and observed a likeness in herself. It seemed so delicate and so fine. She lifted the key from the chain around her neck and inserted it quietly into the door, turning it carefully and hearing the latch click open.
She walked through the empty hall, tracing a finger along the long benches and oaken tables before finally reaching the stairway. The embers glowed in the big fireplace and lit up her shadowy figure slipping carefully up the stairs.
She knew that he was not used to finding the bed empty. When she open the door on the main corridor to return to his chambers, she knew that she would find him seated at a desk late into the night. He would be staring into the matt, white pages before him and contemplating the silence of the night.
She gazed at him, crossed the floor to stand behind him and reached out to touch his shoulder lightly. He did not start but reached up a hand to touch hers, letting the pages flap and the book close. He turned his head and smiled slowly up at her, diverted as ever by her sensual, intelligent arrival.
She crouched down by his side and looked up at him, smiling and offering up her head so that he could rest his hand on the soft strands of her hair. He saw in her beautiful smile, the white teeth like precious jewels. Her hair was the crowning touch in a face so dressed by silken locks that images and visions were created at the sight of her.
Even though the candles stuttered in their holders, being so burnt down at that late hour, he felt as if he could see clear through the shadows they left to the glowing sheen of her crimson blush. And that blush rivalled the coolness of her eyes, so watchful and yet so attentive, shaded beneath the flowing wonderment of her beautiful hair.
"I've returned, love."
He heard her murmur the short sentence and listened to the echoing of that last single vowel in the metallic silence, her mouth saying O again and again in wonder, breathless with a finger grip on the cliffside of desire. She could hold on or let go.
Caught in the images that he conjured, she clutched, proudly and fiercely with him again.
She heard the reverberation of steady hoof beats running through her mind, bringing together both the darkness and the light -- ying and yang -- a challenging contrast of wild emotions and untramelled passions, sober thoughts and gentle evocations........
............And then she realised that it was her own warm heart that she could hear beating.
Click on the kiss to find more romance:
Click on the kiss to find more romance:
Watching the sun set, you leaned over and kissed me sweetly on the lips.
“Thank you for being here for me,” I said simply, looking up, lids fluttering into your eyes and smiled, a wistful kind of smile.
You added simply: “My pleasure, no -- our pleasure, bien sur.”
"Of course," I agreed as we lay back on the hill, side by side, just holding hands and looking at the vivid pinks and fading purples of the sky. If a stranger had looked closely, they would have seen the tears in our eyes. This was the dew that we blinked back, although one lone drop ran out of the corner of an eye and fell to the green grass.
It was a moment of sublime contentment for each of us. The harsh realities of life were far away, and all that existed for these few stolen moments was the two of them and the beauty of the sunset. We had made each other a promise to go and see the sun set together, on the hill -- the kind of romantic outing that we yearned for -- who knows. You had never told anyone that you wanted something so ... romantic. You had told me lots of things you never told anyone else. And every time you did, you wondered if I would laugh at you.
I never did -- only with you. It was amazing to you that this person actually seemed to try on occasion to understand you.
We had liked one another from the moment we met -- honestly felt that way, although often we couldn't understand how or why. And sure enough, when we met that evening in spring, we almost had an inkling that this could be a special encounter. It just clicked. Felt right. We cried out for it.
So, after only a few months, you knew that this was it. IT. What you had looked for, unsuccessfully. Inside you laughed ruefully at the irony that the one you fell in "love" with was the one you could never completely possess. All of the others were as nothing to you. Nothing felt right. Except for this.
You weren't quite sure of the depth of my emotions. I told you that I delighted in you. You found it difficult to believe. The insecurities ran too deep and the sudden abandonments ran too hard. Oh, you were fairly positive that I cared for you. But love? Well, maybe that was pushing too hard.
In the long run it wouldn't matter anyway. The day would come that we would no longer be there for one another and the secret times we spent together in our vociferous nightly charges would be over.
Before that time came, we wanted the sunset. Finally, on a clear sunny day, the kind with a few billowy clouds floating leisurely through the sky, you were surprised.
You were led somewhere far enough away that we could both pretend for a short hour or two that there were no obligations........That it was indeed possible for us to be together............
........And we both revelled in the freedom, short-lived as it was. The last fingers of sunlight disappeared over the horizon, the dream disappeared and night overwhelmed the light even as we were watching the sunset.
Click on the kiss to find more romance: