Ten Million with a Gentleman

The rapid pulse of expectation and anticipation made their moment of reconnection sweet and tender, every bit as fulfilling as they'd each hoped for.  They embraced warmly, enjoying the closeness of one another.  Their bodies parted only for their lips to meet, gently.  Ahh, it was good to see him, it was good to see her.

They only had 24 hours to spend together.  They walked along the historic streets, holding hands.  Often they would pause in their steps, turning to once again enfold the other in their arms, to once again share another series of soft, delicate kisses. 

They lunched together, visiting, sharing, laughing, taking in the countenance of the one across the table.  Their fondness for the other continued to grow.  At times they were silent, as words were not always necessary.  Their companionship was delightfully sufficient.

They arrived at the hotel, going through the routine of checking in.  They accepted the keys and ascended the tall staircase.  They made their way down the hallway, to the last door on the right - Room 10.  She slipped the key in the lock and the door swung quietly open.  After perusing the furnishings, they retraced their steps to the neighboring door.  He repeated the procedure for Room 9 - his room.  After retrieving their belongings from their respective vehicles, they placed them in their respective rooms.  They shared time in each other's presence, holding hands, sharing stories, and yes, more gentle kisses. 

They adjourned to his room where he spoiled her with thoughtful gifts, just as he had done before.  And again, the items were carefully and tastefully chosen.  After receiving her treasures, they parted company to prepare for their evening adventure - a performance at the local theatre, a show vivacious and clever.

After returning to their house of accommodations, not to be outdone by the talented artists, she unveiled her own masterpiece:  A lusciously decadent flourless chocolate cake, the sides of which were deliciously encrusted with flavorful pistachio pieces.  From her bag of goodies, she removed a server, dessert plates and forks and set about serving the rich cake, which they thoroughly savored.

The remainder of the evening was spent quietly, sharing tender closeness and still more soft kisses, yet never breaching the boundaries of honorable behavior.  At an hour not too early nor too late, they said their farewells for the evening.

The next morning they reunited to share a morning service, worshiping together, side by side.  They knew their time for departure was drawing near and neither anticipated that moment with pleasure.  After seeking refuge from the cold in a warm coffee shop, followed by a prolonged good-bye, she stepped into her car as he watched from outside.  She drove slowly away and was no more than five minutes gone, than he messaged her:  He missed her already.

She both wondered and marveled at her great fortune; this gentleman who sought her fellowship.  This new relationship seemed somehow different, mature, more respectful, with no hint of impropriety or hidden motive.  It was not hurried or rushed but comfortable and safe.  She enjoyed his touch, his smile, his searching eyes, his intelligence and wit, and certainly, his gentle kisses - perhaps one day to reach at least ten millon with this gentle man.

Sign of the Season

The calendar may not agree, but as far as I'm concerned, Winter has arrived.

If you've read my blog posts, you may have learned about my not-so-elegant hands.  They're often on the rough side, occasionally marked with scratches, scuffs, and scars.  I don't tend to my cuticles or paint my nails, unless it's to slap on a quick coat of clear polish on my way out the door.  I've actually been known to apply it while sitting in the driver's seat, with the car running - parked, of course.  That's the extent of my idea of "prettying up" my nails and hands.

In Big Creek, as with most of the country I suppose, temperatures are dipping, winds are whipping, and moisture dampens the air.  It seems only logical to me the moisture of the wet seasons should bring greater moisture to individuals, as well as the earth.  I'm not sure I'm aptly conveying my perplexity here.  In my limited mental capacity, I see it this way:  Summer = heat, heat = dry, dry = chapped.  And yet, how is it that Winter = rain, rain = moisture, moisture = chapped?   Rain is, after all, wet, right?  I'm sure there is some perfectly logical explanation for this but I do not know it.  Frankly, I'm not convinced I need to know.  What I do know is the consequence of winter weather conditions:  Split skin. 

The picture above is typical of what I suffer during the cold season.  It's nearly always on my thumb (probably the most frequently used digit) and on my right hand; yes, I'm right-handed.  As I've already noted, I often have scratches and scrapes; these heal relatively quickly, or at least do not greatly hinder my ability to complete everyday, simple tasks.  Cracked skin on the tip of my thumb, however, does not heal quickly, despite treating liberally with lotion during daytime hours or with Neosporin ointment and a bandage each night.  These darn splits can afflict me virtually unceasingly for the entire winter season.  Invariably, it seems one is no sooner healed than it will split yet again or a new split will occur adjacent to the previous one.  And I have yet to figure out a preventative or corrective measure.  If you have any tips, please feel free to advise. 

First Kiss

He'd traveled time and distance to meet her.  He first saw her sitting on the bench outside the restaurant where they'd planned to meet.  Later he would tell her, he knew their meeting was going to be good.  That was confirmed at first embrace:  Gentle, slightly tense, but a feeling like coming home.  All the anxiety of this initial face-to-face meeting yielded slowly and was replaced with a comfort neither had felt in some time.

They took each other in, exploring one another's features.  Lovely, he commented; you look good, she told him.

This is how their first day together would go:  A gentle inquiry into each other's place of thought.  Navigating comfortably around each other's physical being.  Holding hands, replete with soft caresses.

Early in their time together they found their way to a nearby park, where he lavished her with thoughtful birthday gifts, each one significantly marking the fact he'd been attentive as she had revealed likes, preferences, and things that brought her delight.  His presents were both  considerate and practical; characteristics that mattered to her.  In her characteristically demonstrative manner, she requested permission for a small kiss to express her thanks and appreciation; he willingly obliged and there it was - their first kiss.

It would not be their last, for during the remainder of their time together they would seek opportunities to once again come close in a tender embrace, holding one another cautiously yet firmly.  This was fresh for both of them and they neither wanted to mar the occasion nor move beyond the propriety of their early relationship.

He was quiet.  Far more more quiet than his "talkative" letters had been.  In days past, she may have been uncomfortable in that sparseness of speech, but not with him; his company provided a tranquility that settled her spirit.  Just to be, in each other's presence, was a sweet gift.

Their time together was brief yet full.  They loathed saying 'good-bye' despite knowing it was inevitable.  They could each imagine their next meeting:  More familiarity, more comfort, more connection... oh, let those days move swiftly by!  Not five minutes lapsed from their moment of departure before he let her know his thoughts:  He was already missing her.  Her response, with a heavy sigh:  And I, you.