"I'm done showering," she said. "Fresh as a daisy. And now, I am going to lotion-up."
I looked at her from across the room, my eyes ever so temporarily off the computer screen. Well worth it, to be sure. She was the most graceful, lovely vision that could have appeared before my eyes that afternoon, and absorbing every detail took a few moments.
"Oh, to be your towel, mi amor," I managed as she disappeared back into the master bathroom. "Or your lotion."
She stepped back into the doorway of the room for a moment, and our eyes met, and I saw her let out a small shiver, uncontrollably. Her eyes seemed to cross the room and meet mine inches from my face. And then she turned, and went back into the bathroom, from which I heard, "You had better get ready yourself, you know. I do not want to be late. This is the first cookout of the spring, and I am dying to get outside and feel the sun on my body."
It didn't matter much what she said, I was lost to the vision of her naked form across the room, with my eyes and my loins longing for another look. I heard myself say,
". . . or even the floor under your feet, vibrating beneath you, like a wakened beast, ready to climb you like a virgin mountain."
"Oh lord," she said, "hello? Are you intentionally trying to make us late?"
"Hello," I heard myself say, "I'm sorry. I was lost in the moment, in that moment of looking up at you, as if I was the floor. What a view. Oh my, what a view. Now I wish that we did not have anywhere to go. At least for a little while . . . ." I heard my voice trail off somewhere, and as I heard it go, I looked up, and she was standing in front of me, inches away. Dressed just as she had been, moments before, in nothing but her smile, and those eyes.
"Ah," she said, as she crooked her finger to me, "there will be other cookouts, no?"
April 25, 2009.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.