|Blogs > A.Richardson > A.Richardson|
I sit in my library. I sit on the floor surrounded by books; she walks in without saying a word. The front door was open. I know her, her name, Sierra, I know her husband; we are friends that could be more, yet I keep them at a distance.
There is something strange, unexpected, and yet welcome in her step, soft, unquenched, untouched. She walks to me, where I sit, her every step in time with the music, soft jazz, I love jazz, listless in the background; I would love to hold her in my arms, and dance.
I spend most of my days working, trying to lose myself in the work, I don’t want to be found, if they find me I may need to have an emotion, a feeling, I don’t want to feel. I like where I am, I know I need more, and not to be alone, and yet if I was to find someone, that special someone, perhaps I would find less time to work, and more to love.
Sierra stands over me, the music plays, I look up at her; her legs, so beautiful, coming together in a place of beauty, I fantasies of it, her lips are outlined in the moment,, the outline of her breasts, her emotionless face looking back at me. Why is she here I ask, and just as fast, I don’t care, she is hear, and that is truly want matters. She is here.
She sits down near me on the floor, crosses her legs, and without even thinking I turn my back towards her, lean back… and rest my head in her lap. She says nothing, just brushes my hair back with a soft smile. I pick up a book, it is entitled ‘To See You Smile’, I wrote it, it’s poetry, it is soft, It’s about her, and all the women who have been there, not just sexually, but as a friend. I miss many of them, they have each moved on, started new lives, forgotten me, or perhaps they even think of me at times. Only they know.
Sierra picks up the cup of green tea I have been drinking, brings it to my lips; I take a long sip. She sets it back down on the over-sized coaster, leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. The lips, my lips, and sets back up in silence.
I reach up, place my hand behind her head, pull her down towards me, I kiss her lips, she returns the kiss, it is warm, soft, gentle, and inviting. I hold it long, until at last I begin to feel, I let go. If I begin to feel, then what, what shall I do?
I watch her from where I lay on the floor, my head resting in her lap. She is so beautiful, her green eyes, her lips, her check bones creating a mythical image. I close my eyes, pull her close and kiss her. She is now my desire, I wish to please her, for soon, I will wake from this dream, and she will be gone, never having been there.
I sit up, her hand brushes over my hair, I stand, reach out my hand, she takes it, stands and follows me from the small library. The books are still on the floor; I will come back later and put them away, unless I remember why I was sitting there, or what I was looking for.
I lead her to the next room, down the hall, into the bedroom; the bed is set to the side, the unfinished walls, permitting me to see the bathroom, the toilet, the custom built shower, the oversized bath, the sinks of white marble with red veins, and the mirrors. The workers should be returning on Monday. I have the place to myself now, and yet I see her.
I let go of her hand and turn to face her, no words to be spoken she unbuttons her blouse allowing it to fall on the floor, then her sandals, and her denim pants. Sierra stands before me now, no bra, no pretence, just her black lace underwear. She is beautiful.
She unbuttons my shirt, I let her, she pushes it back over my shoulders, I feel the chill of the air, her nipples feeling it as well, it falls to the floor, she unbuttons my pants, never looking down, always looking into my eyes; I get lost in her eyes, I like it.
We have not spoken since she arrived, not a word, I step free of my pants, I wear no shoes in the house, I wear no underwear; I am naked before her. I think of her husband, my friend, the friendship we could have… I see her… I forget everything. I lean forward, kiss her lips, press by soul to hers: she is an angel sent to save me.
Her breasts are full, amazing and beautiful, she could wear a shirt without a bra, and it would be nothing but beautiful. I wish for a moment she were mine. I know it will never be, but for now I will be hers, will be as one, untouched in the lives we know, and seek to forget. I pull back from the kiss; I look at her, consuming every line, every dream, and every part of her beauty.
Her hips are narrow, nearing to a V- shape, I watch her eyes, she removes the lace and lies down on the bed; we make love, passionate, deep, intense, emotional, and unforgettable. I wish once again she were mine, but for now, I am hers. Yes, I will be hers as long as she desires me.
Her body is hot to the touch, I feel the excitement as we kiss, I brush my hand over her body, it is taunt, firm, the hours she spends each week swimming, or running, chasing the children, this is the payoff.
She arches her neck, I kiss it, I move my nose against her skin, I smell the scent of her perfume lavender, sage, rose, I don’t know, I just know I adore it. It could be the scent of her soap, in which case I will find it, for no reason other than to remember this moment.
I kiss her lips, her neck, move my body around hers, two snakes in an embrace, I take her nipple in my mouth, brush my tongue over it, she takes a deep breath, presses downward on my head… I move down her body.
I kiss the jewel, the place she most wishes to be touched, at least on her body, her soul desires to be touched, longs even more so to be held close, in the night, the day, anywhere. She is sweet, soft on the lips, the tongue, she quivers in my first touch, she brushes my hair, leads me to a point in life.
Minutes pass, hours, I forget, her please being my desire; She takes my place, we trade pleasures, her desires become mine, mine become hers, I pull her tight to my body, she pulls me deep within her soul… we kiss, we make love.
We lay there in each other’s arms for what seems to be hours… but I know it was not. She begins to move her body, I am erect again, and she kisses my lips, my erection and leads me to the shower; the water is warm over my skin.
Her hands brush the hair from my face, over my head, she reaches out picks up the soap, makes a lather in her hands, washes my face, my arms, my chest. Gently turns me into the water, it runs across my face, I feel her hands on my back, she pulls near me, reaching around my body, washing my erection, and kisses my neck.
I turn and face her, her eyes are closed, she brushes her hair back... it is short, shoulder length, a soft brown, unlike her bright green eyes. The water runs over her body, down her neck, across her breasts, over her stomach, until finally reaching her waist. She is beauty.
I kneel before her, as if to pray, to give praise to her beauty, I pull her body to me, she raises her leg over my shoulder, I kiss her, letting my tongue move alone her lips. I kiss her deeply, she reaches for the sides of the shower, one hand brushes my hair, pulls me to her, as if to say ‘yes’.
She shaved today, leaving herself smooth, intense, unreal, and yet… I want to please her, give her the pleasure I feel as I please her. I can taste her excitement on my lips, the water flows over our body, until at last she begins to quiver, so soft, gentle at first, building to a state of frenzy, ferocity, and serenity. We are one. We make love.
I stand in the shower, the water washing over our bodies, I hold her close, I press my soul to hers, she to mine, I want to let go, I need to let go, and yet, she has not let go. The water is warm, it begins to grow cold, it is near the end: I kiss her lips, open the door to the shower.
At last, I step from the shower, find the towels, and hand her one for her hair, and I dry her body. It is beautiful, I have never seen her before, not like this, I find the hair dryer I never use, set it up for her, and sit down on a small chair to watch her.
She finishes drying her hair, brushes it, puts on a light colored lipstick, flesh toned, picks up her clothing and gets dressed. I find it wonderful, erotic to watch her dress. First, she puts on her blouse, the single color of light blue; I see her breast under the fabric.
Her eyes look back at me, unashamed, unforgiving, and fulfilled, she knows I am watching her dress... she enjoys my watching her. With a moment’s hesitation, she picks up her lace, pulls it on, and runs her hands over the surface, before stepping into her pants.
She slips her sandals on, stands there once again fully dressed, amazing, I reach out a hand, I wish to touch this dream, to remember it until the very end of all time, never letting go, my hand touches her skin, her head leans into it, she kisses my hand. I already miss her, and she is still standing her with me.
She has not spoken a word since she arrived at my home, my new home, I have not spoken a word… there was no need. I want her to see it, to know it, to feel welcome; we walk around the house, we see every room, the changes, the new construction, ending in the kitchen.
She opens a cabinet, it’s new, light natural stain with a hint of red on brushed oak, I had them add small smoked windows of etched glass, and lighting from behind. I can turn it on or off, dim it to just a hint of light, or light it to full glory.
She picks out a narrow fluted glass, fills it with sparkling water, it holds a hint of lemon and cherries, watches the bubbles rising, and then drinks deep, then sips the water. It pours from the glass, over her lips, I smile, as she is pleased, she lowers the glass; smiles.
Once again, we walk the hallway, I lead her back to the bedroom, the unfinished walls, the incomplete, I find a pair of running shorts, and the logo is of the Marine Corp Dog. I don’t know his name. I pick up a shirt, start to put it on, she hands me another shirt, I place the one in my hand on the bed; I dress in the shirt she has given me.
I kiss her lips, hold her close, I can feel the heart beating in my chest; I can feel her heart beating in her beautiful chest. She feels warm against me, I like it, I feel emotion, I feel excitement, she feels it, runs her hand over my body, coming to a rest on my erection. I feel her smile; she kisses me.
There is no shame, no embarrassment, just adoring obsession… in the way she makes me feel, the way I make her feel. I brush her hair back from her face, let my fingers come to rest on the back of her head, pull her near me, and kiss her.
We separate from the kiss, the moment lost, the desire we both need, the warmth of each others arms, the feelings of being needed by another living soul; a soul that has not grown cold, disconcert and absent. I wonder what reason was it she choose me, I don’t know, I don’t, I just know I am pleased, filed with joy, and contentment that she did.
She leads me back to the library, I sit down in the same place I was in the beginning, I sit amongst the books, the words, the thoughts pressed into paper, the dreams lost in black ink just to be found later in the hearts of the wanderers of the written word; I sit there with her watching me.
Sierra sits down beside me, I rest my head in her lap, she brushes my hair back, leans forward and kisses my lips, I sit up, pull her closes to me, and kiss her; I feel emotion in her lips to mine.
She leaves… never saying a word.
I turned the corner, scarcely noticing the stop sign, and drove away. My thoughts of what we had just done; the passion I felt for the first time, the wanting in his eyes and the love I felt in his every kiss. It pleases me, I want more, and yet I know what we did was not right. If he will have me, I will be his again.
Isaac on the other hand seldom touches me, not since Amanda was born two years ago. It was as if, the fire just burned out of his soul, faded from the light, or he had just escaped from a prison camp and now held a deep fear intimate contact.
I recall how it was in the beginning, the romance, him bringing me flowers, candles around the bed, the midnight swims when we went camping. I love to go camping, get away from the city, away from the town, the every sound never ending; just blending one into the next, until at last there is just the sound.
On our first camping trip we went to a place down in Tennessee near his family home; they own a small farm, raise some chickens, have a few cows, nothing big, but it was where he grew up, went to school, learned to dance, lost his virginity to a girl named Sandy.
He took me there to meet his family, to see the places he knew better than himself, to show me off to his brothers, his sisters, and cousins, to meet his past, and show it his future. It was wonderful.
We stayed in his old room, they had really kept it for him, and my mother turned my room into a storage room the day I left for collage. His room had a large old bed; there was a picture of him in a play from elementary school dressed as a bell.
In the downstairs sitting room, there was a cabinet with pictures of him, a trophy for winning a cross-country run. His brother told me the story of how he won the big race, and then pointed out how everyone was amazed he now lived in the city.
Each of his brothers and sisters had a cabinet with their pictures in it, and trophies from one competition or the next; Lea had one for raising a pig, Matthew had one for basketball, and all of them had pictures of their collage graduations.
I spent the better part of the day visiting with his mother, Catherine who told me stories of when he was a boy, of the trouble he would get into, and how he would hideout in the hills until dark, then come home in time for chores and dinner.
Isaac spent the day with his father, working in the yard, tending to the chickens, he washed a cow, and checked its feet, before joining his brother for a drive into town for supplies his father needed. They were gone for hours, but like boys, they came home laughing and just in time for dinner.
The next day we packed our bags, put them over our shoulders and went hiking into the same hills he played in as a child, it was as if he stepped back in time and nothing had changed. His mother told us to be good, and his father told us not to be too good with a smile on his face.
He showed me the place he once built a fort with his brothers, part of it was still standing. They put large rocks down, and used mud to hold it together, like the Indians had done in a book they read. It was fiction, but they didn’t know that at the time, it worked.
There was a fire pit in the center of it, I could see there was a fire burning in it just a few days ago; he told me his brothers came out here with their children, I wondered how our children would be. Would they grow up in a place like this, or would they grow up in the city, on the streets, or even know this place?
We set our packs down at the fort, not more than an hour’s distance from his family house, ten minutes by the road, but we walked; there was no rush, no reason to hurry, it was our adventure together. We would stay here tonight, and hike back in the morning just the same or perhaps to a new fort.
We gathered some dry wood from the ground, used a green tree limb as a broom, and cleaned the area of nature, not wanting to disturb it, just make it more presentable for our night of camping, and added more rocks around the fire pit.
Isaac used his hand axe to splinter wood into smaller and smaller pieces until at last it was no thicker than a matchstick. He used the rough back edge of the axe, and shaved what soon appeared to be cloth from a larger limb, until at last it covered the wooden matchsticks.
He then placed a single candle, unlit in the center of the cloth, and built a small teepee over the candle, leaving two opening the size of a fist on each side. I had no idea of what he was doing, I had never seen this before, and so I watched in silence until he lit the candle.
I knew then that the candle would burn melt down, causing the small wood to start burning, and that in turn would cause the larger wood to start burning. It seemed ingenious, a natural time for starting the fire.
As soon as the fire was setup, he pulled off his shirt, laying it over his pack, and asked me if I wanted to go swimming. Of course, I wanted to go, I had never gone swimming in the outdoors. Swimming pools at a friends house, even the local pool as a child, but never in nature.
He lit the candle before we departed the fort. The pathway on the backside of the fort, leading us off under the trees, down a path of wonderful greens, gold, yellow, blue; all outlined in the music of birds singing. It was all out of a fairy tale in my mind. To Isaac, it was home.
At the end of the path, I stopped walking, it just appeared from nowhere, and yet everywhere, it was the most amazing thing. A pond filled with water, a small waterfall, a light steam or fog was on the surface: it was enchanting. Isaac explained it was a natural spring, and stayed warm all year round.
There was an outcropping of rocks over the water, not more than five feet off the surface, as if natures wanted to build a diving platform, I could see large fish swimming across the bottom, they were golden in color, there was a humming bird dancing around the flowers.
Soon we had stripped off all our clothing, and were jumping into the water. Two children unashamed of what we were doing, unaware of the outside world, the noise of the city now lost in the far distance. We were at peace.
We were there when the moon came out, resting on a rock out cropping, the warm waters running under and around our bodies, I could smell a hint of smoke in the air, I wanted him, I wanted to make love right there under the moon, the stars, the heavens, in front of all natures glory.
I pressed my body against his, he kissed me, his hands at once finding my breasts, I shook with anticipation, excitement, and fear. What if someone came alone and found us here like this? He pushed back on my body, and I lay back forgetting all thoughts as the water rushed past my skin, warm and inviting.
We made love there on that rock, under the moon, the stars, and all of heaven. I miss those days, I need them to return, but they are gone forgotten, and nothing more than a memory of the past.
Now….now we make love, and I think about it, the way it is more mechanical than desirous, more a scheduled event than passionate; it is sadness ending in restless sleep. Forgotten times no longer at hand, when he loved me as a lover, and not as a duty to the mother of his children.
I rise in the morning, make him coffee, maybe a light breakfast, take a shower, get the kids up for the day, take Joshua to school, and then Amada to my Mother’s. It is my routine, every day, just as his is to have the coffee, kiss me on the check, and go to work.
Sophia and I meet at the gym, where I workout my frustrations on the stair climbers for twenty minutes, attend the weight-training class for tone, and then go swimming for thirty minutes, or get a tan with Sophia. I like tanning with Sophia, she is so beautiful, and I wonder how I could be more like her.
I think about the way Isaac reacted to my getting a tan last month, using small stickers on my body, arrows pointing downward to my pubic area in such longing, starting at my breasts. I thought it would be exciting… he called it ‘trampish’. In the past, he would have been mine for the night. I cried instead.
Last night was more of the same. He came home late from the office, eats a cold dinner, drinks a double-bourbon, kisses the children good night, takes a shower, and watches the evening news. There is no life left in his eyes, no fire or desire to go swimming in the pond.
We built a swimming pool similar to the one he has back home. We never use it, but the children love it, so we keep it. There is a hidden alcove, it looks like a cave, it hides everything you do from the neighbors, it is more of an oversized spa, and it’s heated. We have never made love there, not even had sex. I wonder who has.
We go to bed, he kisses me without passion, rolls on top of my body, kisses me even more with less passion, then sticks it in, pumps like a mechanical bull, ejaculates, rolls off, and falls asleep. Now I am wet, and want to finish, but there is nothing left to finish for him; I’m alone now in the dark.
The entire activity taking less than twenty minutes, from start to finish, once again convincing me he is just a machine, acting out a sequence of actions… not a man making love to his wife. I lay there knowing I am alone, even at his side, unaware of the reality of the moment.
He falls asleep; I stay awake, laying there in the bed until midnight when I get up and walk down the hall check on the children, and then find myself in the kitchen. I pour a glass of sparkling cider add a shot of Apple brandy, perhaps this will let me sleep, forget the past, and accept the future. I need a bedroom of my own.
I retreat to the living room, turn on the television, switches it to the Erotica-Channel, enter the code to open it, Isaac is not aware I ordered the channel, I sit back to watch the show now playing. Its two beautiful women: I wish I could be one of them.
I sip my drink, and watch the show, listen to the moans in the distance, the far off pleasures the women give each other. A friend of mine invited me in collage to a party but I never went, it was women only. She is now living with her girlfriend not far from here. I should call her soon, or go see her, and learn what I am missing. I won’t go.
My fingers find a wanting place, they act with a mind of their own, my nipples are erect and getting warm to the touch, I have a need that has not been filled in such a long time; this is the same every time. I desire to be pleased, to give pleasure and receive.
I would even be pleased to feel like the mistress Isaac visits in the night or a whore without a name, or even a faceless streetwalker, someone, anyone… he desired. That never happens, I wonder if all this work at the gym will pay off, or if he is having an affair.
Isaac never notices the work I do around the house, the gym the hours I spend with the children playing games and helping them with homework. If I was to vanish, I doubt he would notice.
I turn into the gym parking lot, come to a stop next to Sophia’s car; I walk in. Ami’s at the counter. She’s new here.