EXCERPT FROM LOVE LETTERS
Rich’s home wasn’t large, more
of a cottage with lots of exposed cedar, large windows, and a triple slider
lining the back wall which looked onto a deck and a view of the bay. Normally
with humid weather, he’d have the air conditioner running, but the humidity was
down and the bay breeze brought its scented briskness into the house.
The furnishings were simple,
lots of oak, comfortable chairs and floor to ceiling bookcases that held his
collection of westerns. There were hardbacks, paperback, videos, DVD’s with a
few books and movies on John Wayne and Roy Rogers thrown into the mix. There
were also twin curio cabinets tucked into opposite corners, both holding a
collection of horses made of wood, stone, marble, clay, porcelain, and various
other materials. The gifts were given to him by his parents for he had once
asked for a pony, and being unable to house such a pet in the city, they
thought this an apt substituted, and Rich never had the heart to tell him he
had no passion for them.
They both took showers, changed
into clean clothes, he shorts, T-shirt and white socks that absorbs the
ointment he liberally lathered on his raw feet. She wore a wrinkled, sunflower
yellow sundress she had in the gym bag she had in her car, and it was close to
being all she had left. Afterward, Lauren roamed the house, liking the open
kitchen with its clean gray granite counters, lack of clutter so unlike her own
semi-organized stacks of paraphernalia. She also liked the way it opened right
up to the living area. It was basically one room with a bedroom suite off to
the left, a pantry, laundry area and second bedroom and bath off to the right.
A staircase led to a loft, which housed a pool table, more bookshelves and
books and a computer.
Rich watched her take it in
with an amused expression. It was so like her to simply explore, and he didn’t
say anything just took out a pitcher of iced tea, he had made earlier that day,
the tea being from an herbal blend she had given him a few days back. “Don’t
like caffeine,” she said. “Have it on hand when I come over.” She had said it
with that air of knowing she’d be invited to his home, or perhaps she had
anticipated just showing up.
They hadn’t known each other
all that long yet it somehow seemed as if it she had been there for so very
long, a shadow of wistfulness, a dream that he thought would never take hold.
He had once been the epitome of rawness, lust, fury and fear, all reigned in,
tight, controlled yet the yearning was there, dogging him, tempting him. The
fear was one of the emotions that he no longer wanted or needed, but the lust
and fury roared inside, seeking release. Yet neither provided the potential for
a relationship. Lust he could get anywhere, and fury couldn’t be part of who he
was except in the way of abandon, a place to let go and simply be wild. With
Lauren, he knew he could experience both and something more, that rare emotion
of connecting, of being in love.
“I like,” she said, pressing
open the sliders, and stepping onto the deck.
“You can stay as long as you
need,” he said, knowing it would take time to rebuild from the fire.
She didn’t respond, simply held
out her arms as if welcoming the air and scents, her eyes closing as she tilted
her head back. The skimpy sundress fluttered against her lean, tight body,
outlining the fullness of her breasts, of her turgid nipples, the flatness of
her stomach, and molding her thighs. The wind took the spikiness from her hair,
leaving it simply untamed, just like her. She showed little residual affects
from what they had been through, no shock, no tears at the loss of all her
treasurers. He suspected the emotions hadn’t taken hold, that for some there
was numbness.
Turning back, she smiled at
him. “I’m just fine, you know.”
It was as if she had read his
mind. He handed her the tea, the ice clinking against frosted glass. “It will
probably hit you later. Everyone reacts differently after losing all their
memorabilia, everything they cherished.”
She took the glass, sipped the
tea, and offered a small salute indicating it was good. As if moving to music,
she swayed, shoulders moving, hips rolling. She was often like that, never
quite still, as if songs sprung up around her and she needed to move to the
melody only she could hear. “I lost nothing.” She placed both hands against her
heart. Everything’s in here, every memory, everything precious, the true loss
came when I lost my parents, my grandmother. Everything else is just things,
accumulations that gather and, yes, prompt sweet remembrances, but love can’t
be contained in a picture frame, or a memento. It’s inside us. What’s left of
those I love I still have, and what I need, what I want, what matters I can
find in those I love, and…” Taking his drink, she put it down on a nearby table,
adding her own, and then leaned up against him, her back to his front, wrapping
his arms around her. “… and hopefully you will be part of what I need, what I
want, what matters.”
“I…”
“Shh,” she said, “Be sure
before you say anything. Just hold me.”
And he did, curling her up
against him, burying his face against her neck, experiencing a swell of emotion
that seemed alien yet what he craved. He could have lost her tonight. The fire
could have consumed them both. It made life sweeter, this moment with her all
the more precious. He tasted her neck with tender kisses. Yes, he loved her, he
knew this, he wanted to say it, wasn’t sure of the timing, wasn’t sure of
anything but that this was right, certain, good. Her message her been pure and
blunt as always, but her speech held other components he hadn’t heard before.
Pain swelled in its simplicity. She lost and grieved. She understood the
difference between what was real and important and what could be let go.
Her hands lifted, fingers
threading his hair as she pulled him closer, her body tightening in response to
his teasing mouth. His arms had been about her waist, but now his hands slipped
up over that slenderness and cupped each breasts, not squeezing, not massaging,
just seeming to test the heaviness, enjoy the feel.
She moaned, her body growing
limp and languid, wanting more, knowing she’d hold back, but wishing to stay
that decision just a bit longer. Still, she wouldn’t indulge, not just yet.
Partly because she intended to honor her self-imposed vow, and partly because
anticipation held its own tantalization. Savoring the bourgeoning love was
important to her. Taking it slow and steady was part of her progression. There
had been a time of wild, a time of experience for the sake of experience, and a
time of simply running, not wanting to feel, not wanting to ever let anyone too
close, for in that closeness she risked loss. Soon she came to realize not
risking love, emotion, life, everything that meant something left one cold and
frozen. The risk was better, the heat better, the plowing through and finding
one’s way, better. However, she now needed the real, no more settling just for
the jolt, the lust, the same ole, same ole experience, she wanted forever, and
she wanted love, the way she had seen her parents love.
Turning in his bear-like
embrace, she lifted her face, touching his, outlining the scar with one
fingertip, following that same path with kisses to the pink pucker of his
scarit, and then to his unmarred cheek, and then to his mouth, toying with his
lips, never losing his gaze, never losing the sway she set in motion to that
soundless music, and somehow he began to hear it, only he suspected it was
simply the rhythm of their hearts. The kiss grew, their tongues met, performed
an erotic waltz, slow, swirling, and then their mouths clamped in a tango of
lust, the kiss full and endless.
The world disappeared.
The wind disappeared.
Sound disappeared.
Leaving just the ebb and flow
of the other, giving and taking.
Leaving just the kiss.
She was the first to pull free,
to not let that kiss take them afar, to that place one could not return. Yet,
she did not leave his embrace. Instead, they swayed in the semblance of dance,
not real dance but that soul-partnering, where passion and love co-existed.
Rich never felt anything more
perfect. He had let go of his fear of fire when she engulfed his fiery penis
within her mouth, and again when he carried her to safety from the encroaching
flames. He let go of the emptiness of emotionless lust the moment she came into
his world. He let go of anger, the combatant of his fear, the instant he
understood he loved her. All that was left was to let go of the words, to
simply tell her.
Be sure, she had said. He was
but he held back, not quite understanding why, perhaps because he wanted her
love in return? She acted as if this were a possibility but also acted as if
that would only happen if she knew she was loved first. It left uncertainty.
Could he live with that uncertainty? He had run into fires without
consideration to whether or not he’d ever survive yet he hesitated in this. And
he suddenly comprehended that he had never said I love you before without being
intoxicated, and even then it was more of a platitude, a luv ya. He needed her
to understand the truth, the fullness of his emotion, and the lasting value of
those words, they were redeemable, true, and real. He wouldn’t go away. He was
here to stay. She was his forever. Was she ready to accept that?
Tell her he told himself. Show
her. The ringing phone took the opportunity away. He moved away from her
reluctantly, holding her eyes as he flipped open his cell. Listened, and then,
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Work,” he said, cupping her
cheek, falling into her, never wanting to leave her. “You’ll be safe here.”
She smiled. “I know.”
He kissed her again, this time
quickly, sensing she wanted to say something more, wanted to tease and joke,
but serious had somehow taken the moment, and they left it stay.
Lauren smiled at the door as he
walked out, making certain he was gone before she said, “You’re my forever,
Rich Longar.” And then amending, “Aren’t you?”
***
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