Facing my bedroom window, I wait. “Soon he will come,” I think
aloud. “Yeah, he will be here.”
Nevertheless, as I continued to reassure myself of the latter, something at the back of my mind was telling me otherwise. “What if he doesn’t come? What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”
Unable to stand the unknown, I walk over to sit at the foot of my bed with a heartfelt sigh. And once again, I wait. It is but two minutes to midnight and yet I am already burning for him. Slowly my body temperature rises. I can feel tiny drops of sweat drip through the crevice between my breasts. This sweet seducer of my dreams is finally a reality. No longer do I imagine the feel of his hands caressing the length of my person nor do I lick my lips in hope that I might taste the juices of a kiss that never was. For when he touches me and stakes his claim, we join together in a sensual dance of lovemaking. Rather than individuals competing in a game of possession, we are one soul riding in a quest towards utter fulfillment.
Trapped in my state of reverie, the realization that I am no longer alone takes a moment to dawn on me. The sensation that I am being watched sends chills running through my spine. I look over towards the bedroom door. It was him. And there he stood, a work of art. My Achilles’ heel. So perfect that no amount of words could even begin to do him just.
At about 6 feet 2 inches, my Adonis had an amazing allure that could turn any sane women’s head. Not to mention that he looked damn good in silk pajama bottoms. With a broad chest and an undeniably muscular physique, he made my mouth water. His face was even more captivating. My lover had the perfect bone structure with a stern square jaw to match, a straight nose, and the most inviting, yet kissable lips. His eyes were the color of deep, rich chocolate that I, on a number of occasions, found myself wallowing in. And to top it all off, he was blessed with a radiant skin that looked and tasted like the delectable flavor of Hershey’s chocolate. He was gorgeous.
Appearing out of nowhere, like he always did, he gazed all over the length of my person. It was a look that spoke of pure hunger. As if he were a ferocious wolf on the hunt and I, a gentle rabbit that would be his prey. A wicked grin slowly begins to spread across his face. The smirk both stated yet challenged. He was willing to play the cat and mouse game because, in the end, he knew there would only be one victor. Him.
As he walks toward me I realize that he carries one, long stemmed, red rose. “For me?” I purr, reaching out to take the flower. Shaking his head “no”, he moves the rose out of my reach and hides it behind his back, never taking his eyes off of me. It was part of a game we played. Never did we open our mouths to verbally speak to one another, but rather leaving it up to our eyes, minds, and bodies to do our talking. The sensations were both exciting and erotic at the same time.
All of a sudden, before I know it, I’m laying flat on my back. At this point he is just a few inches away and yet that is still too far. I can feel his warm breath against my face and his strong body half sprawled over mine. I want more. Suddenly nothing mattered, but him, I, and this moment. Taking his head in between my hands, I bend his head down until his lips gently touch mine. In that sweet yet brief contact, I feel a jolt of energy pass between us. We look into each other’s eyes and everything seems clear.
Palming his head once more, I kissed him as if my whole life depended on it. As our tongues intertwine in a battle of wills, I am breathless.
“Touch me, tease me, and show me” I cry. And that is exactly what he does.
Quickly striping each other of our clothes we jump into bed and under the covers. And this time he lies between my thighs. Then taking the rose in hand, he gently trails it down my head, nose, and lips with small kisses to follow. But he doesn’t stop there. Down my neck, between my breast, and lower the rose goes and still more hot trails of kisses follow.
I’m going crazy with need. I want more and more and more. He caresses me, teases me, and showers me with love and tenderness. But once again I want more. I feel like I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces if he doesn’t fill me fast.
“I want you now,” I cry. “Please,” I beg, not waiting for him to answer before pulling him astride me. “Come to me”.
Then to my shock he answers me with a “Yes” and fills me over and over again. He takes me to heaven and back and heaven and back in a climax so powerful, it works the depths of my soul. As he takes me to unknown heights, I think to myself I am in heaven.
Suddenly, I awaken. I am alone. Where is my lover? Where has he gone? Has he left? Why do I still have my nightgown? Then something dawns on me. A wicked grin slowly begins to spread across my face. I say to myself, “Mmmm…what a nice dream.”
Heather stood 12.5 inches tall; she wasn’t colorless, as most of Kate’s friends would say (When Kate was a child); she was transparent…because she was made of glass. She would sit patiently throughout the day on Kate’s bookshelf, pretending to be a lifeless glass sculpture. She would occasionally slip between the pages of ‘Snow White and the seven dwarfs’ and would read through the book in one go; she liked Snow White but her favorite fairy tale was ‘The sleeping beauty’. There was a heart (also made of glass) embedded in her bosom, it was the only thing in her body that wasn’t transparent; it changed its color when someone touched her, red when she felt anger, yellow when she felt scared, green when she felt happy and blue when she felt sad.
All these years, her heart had been changing colors, but it’d never turned colorless…transparent. She knew her heart would only turn transparent when someone would touch her with true love; for love she knew, was pure…was transparent.
It wasn’t that Kate didn’t love her, she’d always treated her gently, but she’d always treated her like a toy…even though she knew Heather was special. Now, that Kate had grown up, she hardly even played with her.
One autumn afternoon, when Heather was gazing at the falling leaves through the slightly parted curtains, of the window near the bookshelf; she heard approaching footsteps, she became still. When the door opened she was relieved to see it was Kate, then her gaze fell upon the little thing galloping behind Kate; it was a boy made of glass mounting a horse, also made of glass. The boy was dressed in a transparent medieval jerkin and on his chest was a heart glowing in a greenish hue.
Kate cupped and gently put her hands next to Heather on the bookshelf; Heather stepped into the cup of Kate’s hands, her heart was glowing brilliant green, too.
Kate then brought Heather to the boy and his horse. Heather stood next to the boy, she didn’t know what to say but neither did the boy; he began whistling which made Heather look at him, who until then was looking at the floor (and everything else but the boy), and then he timidly extended his hand and said-
“I’m Peter,” then he smiled broadly.
Heather held his hand. Both their hearts turned transparent.