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  And now we continue with our next installment of Formerly Fun's BlogOpera.
When we last left off, our heroine flirted casually with the tousled, attractive barista at the local coffee shop. They laughed, they twinkled, they connected. And they finally had a real conversation. In a moment of boldness ... she gave him her address. She returned home and began cleaning house when the doorbell rang ... - F. Lawrence Caslin
BlogOpera (pt 3) There he was, looking somewhat tired but unexpectedly nervous.
"Hi", I said, surprised that he was actually here.
"Hi, we finally got that delivery service thing going," he said holding up a bag in one hand and a cup in the other.
"What did you bring me?" I smiled.
"We have a lovely steamed milk with a shot of espresso, decaf, of course, in consideration of the late hour. And in here," he said holding up the white, waxy bag, "we have an assortment of fine pastries, and not end of the day swag either, these were delivered just a few minutes ago."
"Does the lady approve?" he asked.
"Come in." I said.
"So you let any strange man in this late at night?"
"Only men who bring dessert."
I took the bag and coffee and he followed me into the kitchen.
"You surprised me tonight," he said.
"I did?"
"Yeah, you did."
"Well, I guess I was feeling bold." I offered.
"Bold is good."
"Can I get you something," I said, standing there with the stuff in my hands unsure of what to do next.
He just looked at me, the silence between us bored into me. All his movements slow and deliberate, he moved closer and took the cup and bag from my hands, set them on the counter and rested his hands on my hips. I could hear us both breathing. He leaned his body against mine and pulled me into him filling up the space between us. His lips met my lips. It was perfect kiss, open, warm, moist, neither chaste nor obscene. It wasn't a gum commercial with the kiss lasting as long as a divas final note but it was good and worked better than any drug, any mantra or massage to make all the tension fall from my body, not to mention caution and sound reason.
He pulled back.
"Good, now that that's over, I don't have to spend the rest of the night wondering when I get to kiss you."
I am not an impulsive person. Rarely do I not deliberate on even minor decisions and details but months of celibacy and weeks of playful banter and innuendo had primed me for this. I looked at him and I felt hungry. Hungry for the warmth generated by two bodies connected, breathing each other's breath, sharing the heat of naked skin. Hungry for the unearthing of something new and unfolding, like Columbus of the flesh, mapping out each discovery, savoring the smells of an exotic land. The task of learning a new body, where to trace your fingers to raise bumps across the skin, how the muscles and sinew moved under the flesh and where a person is soft and vulnerable.
I reached out and took his hand, turned and walked him to my bedroom. He sat down on the edge of my bed and looked at me earnestly as I stood in front of him. I moved to stand in the space between his legs. I put my hands on either side of his face and kissed him, softly, my movements now slow and deliberate. Knowing it would never be this new again, at least not with him. (to be continued ...) |
Formerly Fun
