All through that time she had yearned for a day. It was a day when she could have and hold and belong and anticipate the reality of just such a creation. Now, at last sheltered by bushes and long grass, it glints wickedly and yet attractively. There is a mastery at work here, erected between strong suntanned limbs, reflecting conscientiously the blue and cloudless sky.
Will she dare now to approach under the shady spreading boughs? Her hesitation and lack of temerity is reinforced by the fact that she is offered little privacy out here in the open for her blushing cheeks. She may be permitted to envisage the sheer presence of a powerful and all encompassing feeling of possession. So much so, that it seems to overwhelm her at this instant of realisation. Should she stagger? Should she kneel? Should she assume the traditional position? Uncertainty hovers in her mind. There is no hint of guidance at this stage. Her thoughts are as confused as the chattering of birds above.
She moves closer with brave determination. Stealthily she finally dares to touch this thing that she has craved for so long. At last she can begin to enjoy the fulfillment of all that timid, yet eager anticipation. She has savoured this for so long. She has stared blankly into space. She has closed her eyes into such ravishing dreams, hopes and expectations.
Surely it cannot be deemed a misdemeanour now that she cannot help but close her eyes at the approach of this climactic pleasure? She trembles fearing that such an excess of modesty will bring down chastisement upon her sorry form and she will open her eyes and this will prove to be yet another elusive dreams. How could it all be taken away for her yet again before she can sample the nectarous fruits of her ambition? It would be too cruel for her not to sup on the ambrosia that she has so long been promised. Too cruel for her fate too permit. Surely?
"Surely?" she repeats aloud, whispering to herself soto voce and reaching out again to reassure herself that this was indeed tangible reality. At last she can apply gentle pressure to the hot surface before her. It is receptive to each of her fingers as they trail slowly down the dichotomous surface - so rough and yet so smooth. She delves further, eyes still closed and she finds moisture, wetness, a viscosity that she will absorb in the fulness of time. The hard, dry surround and the glistening centre piece are both warm to the touch of her outspread palm.
The heat of the sun and by the extent of arousal and desire have done their work neatly. She has been summonsed: beckoned forward. And now she has taken the opportunity to come in the fulness of time. Dutifully, submissively, she kneels in the grass. Her head is bowed in thankfulness. She has arrived at the point of realisation.
Eyes still closed, her head spins with half remembered promises. Is this the most proximate thing to heaven upon earth? Yes! All has been completed. There is life here. There is a shimmering essence to this creation. She can slowly open her eyes, look over shyly and observe that everything has been achieved to her entire and obvious satisfaction.
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