Just a little tidbit I wrote when I had a few spare moments:
As she sat against the large grey stone, and looked out over the brilliant green meadow, Trista decided that this was it. She was no longer going to do what everyone thought she should do. She was not going to be the safe, practical, ever-dependable one any longer. She was tired of that role. When was she going to have fun and adventure? Never, at the rate things were going, that’s when.
The clumps of tall grass wiggled in the wind. The sky was a muted, mottled blend of shades of gray-on-gray. It was chilly and she wrapped her bulky knit coat around her tightly and lifted the collar around her neck. Here she was in the most romantic of settings, Ireland, and she was on yet another errand for someone else. Well, she wasn’t going to get this item checked off her list by sitting on this rock, she thought. And she pushed herself up to stand and stretch. She picked up the basket at her feet and continued walking along the path that meandered past open pasture, low stone walls, and an occasional gate.
When she came to the stone bridge spanning the river, she moved off the path, and started working her way down along one side of the bridge to the river’s edge. She spotted a section of ratty looking cattails and squatted down near them. It was autumn, and they were beginning to die back, the perfect time to harvest the root “laterals” for this evenings meal, her foreign exchange mother, Nora, had delighted. And of course she’d gone along with Ben and Emily, Nora’s children, the week before and learned the dirty work of harvesting cattail root, so she felt an odd obligation to offer to collect them for Nora today. She pushed the sleeves of her coat and sweater up above her elbows and plunged her right hand into the muck at the base of the cattail looking for the bend in the rhizome, the point where she was to break them off. She snapped the slenderest part of the root, and pulled back the tuber. Using her pocket knife, she trimmed the root from the plant and tossed the muddy lateral into her basket. She repeated this process until her knuckles ached from the cold and the muscle at the base of her thumb protested when she tried to grip the root bases with her muddy, frigid fist. Grabbing the half full basket, Trista walked to a clearing on the bank and started cleaning off the roots and then her hands. As she used her skirt as a towel to dry her hands, she noticed him for the first time looking down at her. How long had he been there? A while by his appearance, up on the bridge, sitting on the guardrail, long boot-clad legs dangling lazily over the edge, with the slightest of a smile on his face.
WARNING: Explicit content (literary erotica) follows.
FROM "HER" PERSPECTIVE:
They stood together at the checkout waiting for the cashier to run their bills. What was he doing standing so close to her? She could feel the warmth of his body. Just an inch and she knew she’d feel the hairs of his skin brush provocatively against her arm. Did he know how much she had to fight to not make the subtle movement to close that inch? Did he understand the temptation he was to her? How she wanted him? His youthful body, his boyish charm were enough, that was clear to her, but it was the intelligence that was his mind that truly intoxicated her. He was her equal.
Did he know she’d dreamed of him? Of course not, how could he know that, as she slept, her subconscious desire for him took over, and she saw his perfect white smile as he tugged her from the hallway into a dream-contrived alcove. The look on his face alone was enough to make her insides do somersaults. That look said it all. He wanted her too. As he pulled her close and whispered “shhhh!” with a devilish smile, she could smell his masculine warmth and the sweetness of his breath. The softness of his mouth against hers was in stark contrast to the strength of the muscles in his arms as he brought her in even closer. Her knees gave slightly as he parted her lips with his tongue. She sucked it each time his plunged hungrily into her mouth. Each stroke lashed fire from her thighs to her navel. As she wrapped her leg around his muscular upper thigh, he planted her against the wall, crushing into her breasts, eliciting a moan from her throat, their mouths never parting. As he pushed into her, she could feel his hardness through denim. She craved his nakedness against her own. She wanted him to take her. The thought of him inside of her was enough to make her explode, the orgasm waking her from her dream. Just the jolt of remembering this was enough to break her free from her thoughts to find him standing there beside her at the register in the shop.
He looked over to her and smiled, “What do you think it would take to light a fire under this cashier?”
She shrugged and smiled back, “She is taking her sweet time, isn't she?”, all the while struggling to sequester the heat ignited by his nearness and her own thoughts.
FROM HIS PERSPECTIVE:
As he stood at the counter waiting for the cashier, he intentionally stood close to the female friend next to him. He liked being close to her. He felt good near her. She wasn’t like the other women he knew. The young pretty girls that were so typical. The flirtation and light conversation were always the same. He was used to having their attention, not that he cared. But the one next to him was different. She was older with a regal sense about her. She was smart and sensible, with a sharp witty tongue. She had a strength about her that he rarely found in a female. He was entirely drawn to it, to her. He stepped in closer, as close as he could without touching her, being as subtle as he could. He breathed deep and took in her scent. His blood pressure rose.
When had it happened? The friendship they shared was once of convenience. She had a decidedly serious nature and he gave her reasons to laugh. He found it easy to make her smile. She seemed to appreciate his sense of humor more than most. But it was gradually turning into something deeper than that now. Their interest in one another was evolving into something much more complicated. And yet there was that fine line that they both danced close to but never crossed. A line that they dared not cross, or did they?
He knew he wanted to explore territories beyond that line, whether he ought to or not. Morals be damned, he thought. Women like her didn’t come around every day. He wanted to experience her, everything about her and he knew, if he didn’t, he’d forever regret it. Of course it was risky business, what this could become. Neither of them were without their own obligations and responsibilities. But if they were discreet, and no one got hurt, what would be the harm? The benefits outweighed the risks as he saw them.
At the moment, they seemed caught in this pattern of move/counter-move, neither yet committing to the eventualities to come. He of course wanted, needed, to make the transition into a physical pattern. He knew she was attracted to him. Even now he could hear her breathing catch as he moved closer. A quick glance at her face and he knew her thoughts were somewhere else. So he paused on her and let his eyes take her in, unobserved.
She was beautiful in her maturity; age had made her interesting, intriguing even. Her silver hair, cut in her ever-present pageboy, was prematurely grey, but it went well with her wise grey-blue eyes. Her hair brushed her long elegant neck, the skin so delicate there. He wanted to taste it almost as much as he wanted to taste her mouth, taste her. Her breathing was faster now. He wondered if it were possible that she was responding subconsciously to the thoughts he had of tasting her. He smiled at the thought of them having such a connection.
He ached to know what it felt like to cup her full breasts in his palms, to feel the warmth of her belly against his, to make love to her. He knew instinctually that she would be a lover that knew what she wanted, sure of herself, able to get what she wanted without self-consciousness or insecurity. She was not submissive in the slightest, and he had the deep pleasurable feeling that he’d be looking up at her more often than not. She would be able to match his desire, perhaps, finally, in a way that he’d only dreamed of experiencing with a woman. She was most certainly a force to be reckoned with. And by the look of her at this moment, her full lips looking as if she were being made love to with the slightest quiver notable, her breathing shallow and quick, her eyes still far away, he knew a storm was brewing.
Her back straightened, she blinked and looked at him and then at the cashier whose back was to them as she continued to straighten the contents under the counter several feet away. He smiled at her as he spoke. “What do you think it would take to light a fire under this cashier?”
She returned his smile, “She is taking her sweet time, isn’t she?”
And, he thought, ...so was she.
