It was a hot night, the heat from the day clinging to the night air while the wind breezes through the house. The oscillating fan barely cooling the heat from my skin.
Your charisma precedes your physical presence as you enter the room, and you look too good to be true. The khaki pants, the plaid shirt, the scruffy beard growth that is so dark it’s nearly black. It outlines the perfection of your chiseled face.
The last seat left is right beside me and I can feel the heat emanating from your body as you sit next to me. I wonder how a man can be so thin, yet so strong. You have working man’s arms, thick with muscle. Your hands are calloused, made for working with wood, made for loving tenderness.
I notice there is a little more silver and grey in your hair than there was. Your hair is soft and lustrous. How intimate a caress of me to reach my hands out and slip my fingers into that soft, dark hair. I want to feel the softness of it, smell the perfumed wash of it. *No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this.
I want to reach out and stroke the soft, tanned skin of the back of your arm, to see what it feels like. Would it leave goosebumps along your arm? Would the hair raise up on the back of your skin?
I want to take off the glasses that rest on that perfectly sculpted nose and stare into your eyes.I wonder, I dream at what I would see there. Would I see that this could never be? That we’re both married, and you to a wife who I really like? That this would ruin everything? You would never be amenable to this, nor would I ever put either of us in that position. You’re too good. Too pure. Too sweet. Too…much.
But in the meantime, I can still imagine what it would be like to press my tender lips to your rough, grizzled face. It would be tentative, yielding and completely impossible.
I don’t even yearn for this, I just picture it in my mind. I imagine how sweet it could be. Just enough to be against the rules, but not enough to hurt anyone. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Just the yearnings of a soul for a little more tenderness, a little more caressing. A taste of the forbidden; the tender hands of a carpenter singeing my skin with delicate strokes.
I leave the house feeling foolish. The wild imaginings of a silly girl. Because that’s what I am, a girl at heart.
The night is hot, but the wind is cool as it blows fitfully through the rustling trees. The moon is full in the sky, lending an element of lonely creepiness to the evening. It’s the perfect way to finish the night.
Summer is almost over, I can feel it in the wind.
*Lyrics from Dessert Rose by Sting