In my derelict heart that is cool with emptiness and loud with echo’s that go hand in hand. There’s a story waiting to be told.
It’s a story of summer. It's warm and full of the sort of smiles that save themselves for fiction and if we’re lucky, we get our happy ending too.
Damn You
“Behave!” you say with a smile, and it’s one of those smiles that make you feel that it was created purely for you.
“What?” I respond, with a smile that ‘was’ created just for you and we both know what.
I was looking around for flat spot so we could settle with our picnic.
Picnics always seemed before now, more appealing before they actually happened. I guess I always imagine, champagne, strawberries, fresh homemade bread and some of that jam, the sort that comes with a tea towel lid.
I don’t know where I get these ideas from, perhaps from the movies.
The reality was usually soggy sandwiches, a pork pie selection, and some crisps and all normally unwrapped before anyone was ever hungry, oh and let’s not forget the ants and that wasp that just couldn’t take a hint.
Anyway, I was eyeing up a patch in the corner, the closest thing to a secluded patch, you know me, and you know I’m trying to foresee every eventuality.
The grass has been recently cut and that smell, the one that you always identify with the beginning of summer wafts around like it was waiting us.
I take a second to look around, two white butterflies shimmy across the riverbank, they remind me of teenaged sweethearts, blissfully aware of only each other.
A robin dive bombs to the floor and beats the fly it has trapped between its cartoon beak, to a quick death before it flies off to feed its babies who’s greedy voices can be heard in receipt of it.
“This spot is perfect!” I tell you as I begin unraveling the rug from it’s designated compartment in the backpack hamper you abandoned at the first opportunity.
Once we’re settled and we get over the relief that the bottle of wine has a screw top since we both forgot to check, we just look at each other and wonder who’s idea this was. “It was my idea damn it, and damn you.” I say with a wink to which you reply,
“Damn you too.”
I lay on my front with my sandals discarded beside us and pat the space next to me.
“Let’s just watch and see what we can see.” I suggest and you humor me and lay alongside.
Instantly the warmth of you is a comfort and I adjust myself ever so slightly so that more of your bare skin is touching mine.
I breathe in the smell of you, the smell of your sun-baked skin and I know that later I’m going to have you.
You look at me just as I have the thought, and we share it, sometimes it’s like that.
I lean sideways and quietly coo over the frenzy of sun induced freckles across your nose, before I plant a kiss of promise on your cheek.
We watch the world go by for a while, we shoot with our fingers anyone we deem deserving for one reason or another and all the while, the tension between us is building. I can feel it like I feel the change occur when you slip your hand between us and caress my fingers, yours speaking to mine, mine responding and nerve endings in their tips acquainting themselves.
“I want a wheelbarrow ride!” I exclaim excitedly as the idea pops into my head. “It’s been years and years since I’ve had one.” I add, and I look at you questioningly. You look around to see if anyone’s about and the look in your eye tells me okay.
We move from the rug and I get on all fours. Now bear in mind that I am still actually horny though it isn’t at the forefront of my mind. I really do want to mimic a wheelbarrow it’s the child in me, popping up to say hi.
You lift my legs up and we move a few paces. The image of how we must look appears in my head as my hands sink into the grass beneath them and then you tell me that you can see straight up my dress and we begin to laugh. I try to free myself but you refuse to let go of my legs and then I deliberately fall into a heap.
The struggle has aroused me to a new level, one of which there’s no coming back from.
“Damn you.” I say as I brush away the blades of grass that have stuck to various parts of me, I look at you and pretend not to notice the bulge that shows me I’m not alone with this urgency.
I sit back down and you join me and pour us both a drink.
“Cheers” I say as I take a large sip and manoeuvre myself so my legs are wrapped around the space around you.
I press the front of my dress down between my thighs a give you my filthiest most sincere “I want you” look.
You lean forwards and kiss me so softly on my mouth and I wonder where you get your restraint from but actually it’s a fitting kiss.
Whilst it’s soft and gentle, our mouths slip away from each other, allowing ‘tell tell’ gasps to escape.
Your fingers clutch the thin fabric of my dress and pull on it, knead it, I suppose it’s the sexual equivalent of hitting a door in rage.
I place my hand over yours and move it to my breast, then, I gently rub your fingers over me, allowing you to feel my nipples instantly react to your, our touch.
I bite my lip and a squeaky sound you could be forgiven for not hearing, escapes my throat as your other hand reaches to invoke an identical response from my other untouched breast.
Our eyes remain fixed all the while, as if we’re afraid we might miss something, lose something.
You squeeze my erect nipples now, between your fingers and thumbs and I close my eyes in submission, perhaps I have lost something after all.
I shift my legs wider and raise my dress above my thighs. My eyes are still firmly closed as I hitch my white knickers to the side and expose myself to you.
I imagine you looking at my pussy and although nerves make me shift uncomfortably, I take control of them, the only way I know how, by beating them down with something much bigger.
