Love and Picnics

She wanted to be naked with him and she didn’t.  She wanted to get it over with.  It was clear to both of them where this was going. In movies, one or the other is surprised.  That’s not true if you’re completely alive.  You feel heat and you know. She wanted to get to the part where he saw her naked in case he didn’t like everything and hurry to that part in case he did.  There had been lunches and a movie; they had sucked prawns in a Thai restaurant, eaten melons in a courtyard with pink blossoms growing up the walls. He’d brought thick peonies, simply bursting to her office.  It was getting hot.

He picked her up Saturday morning with a picnic basket and she felt a clapping inside her, picnics feel like play.  He played waltz music in the car and they drove higher and higher, until he stopped the tiny car under trees in a quarry of rock and unpacked the picnic, pasta salad he’d made, a long baguette, French cheese,  cherry cider, a bowl of bright spun sugar. He laid out a blanket; the edges immediately damp.

The air hung between them as if a droplet suspended.  The food piled up by the picnic basket while he laid out the blanket and she knew if she didn’t move, she’d lose her nerve.  In the dappled sunlight, she began to undress.  Huge pinecones littered the valley.  She slid her green skirt down over her legs, pulled the top up over her head and then he was standing behind her unbuckling.  She could feel his hands. He was quick; his hands were on her but he’d shed his own clothes so quickly, she had no time to think.

His hands covered her breasts.  Everything in the world stopped.  As if the kissing would go on for hours, as if the drops of water lisping from the tree above them were part of their skin.  When he first tasted her, she felt her heart and body lurch and spiral.  His face knows something about me, he didn’t know yesterday.  She felt a sob in her throat, and she threw herself into him, tasting him; she was on top for a moment, then he was, the blanket moved across the pinecone floor and when he came inside her; she was already spent, she was waiting for him.  Lying on her back, she saw a hawk flying in lazy slow circles. She suddenly felt very hungry; everything felt very right.  They untangled and sat up.  “Are there bears in these woods?” she asked stumbling back into her own body, the fears that knocked in her skull.  He poured cherry cider.

“We’re alone up here,” he said.

“But we’re not alone,” she said, “not anymore.”

He took her hand, kissed her fingers. “After this, even when we’re alone, we’re not.”

“Is that a good thing for you?” she said.  He took a deep breath, but didn’t answer.

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Published in: on August 11, 2015 at 7:30 pm  Comments (1)  

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  1. I want to truly believe that this is your blog. I have been surprised too many times by duplicates. I want to believe I am safe here. Running is my new name. I run from life, confusion. I run from distractions. I never stop running.


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