Petrichor


Rain

Written for the word prompt: http://kellieelmore.com/2014/06/20/fwf-free-write-friday-word-prompt-4/ 

As she walked into the church, she could tell the storm was coming. It was cold and had already started to rain. How appropriate for the occasion.

During the service, it rained hard, with thunder and lightning all around. She couldn’t remember the last time it had stormed like this. Though it can be a little unsettling, it’s also so calming, too. She felt like she was in a fog, a nightmare of the worse kind – so unsettled.

Nothing she heard sounded right, whatever it was they were saying. She felt cold and numb. She was sniffling and shivering, was she getting sick? She had already lost her voice the day before. Finally the service was over, and the storm had passed, and the crowd headed out to the parking lot.

The smell of the air, its freshness & earthiness, the petrichor cleared her mind, and a small smile tried to creep in. Then she saw them bring out the tiny casket. The attempted smile disappeared, and in an effort to not focus on the coffin, she thought petrichor is such a depressing little world to describe something so cleansing and refreshing, as the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

 

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The Past is the Past


Sometimes through our memories and those that we share them with, the past feels alive again, and it can be exciting. After a while though, the fire burns down, and all that is left is the glowing embers of the memories, warm, cozy, and fuzzy around the edges. Through that set of rose-colored glasses, everything looks better than it was. Discovering new information about the past, the storylines in your head begin. You start rewriting scenarios, and what-ifing, what could have been, what might have been. Thoughts flash through your head that seem could have been plausible, but deep down, you know they probably weren’t. You get caught up in it for a time, but then you realize, it really is just sweet memories from the past. And the past is the past . . .

But what if some day it isn’t?

It’s A Shame We Aint Lovers


Something I have been working on . . .  Do you want to know what happens next? Let me know, please. 🙂

“Damn, I look smoking hot tonight,” she said to herself, as she is looking in the mirror getting ready to go out. At first, she smiles, then rethinks if that is a good thing. This is the first time she has seen him in decades and she knows what he will be thinking about. At least she’s pretty sure, from all the comments he has made and all the secrets he has shared.

They go to Galveston’s Mardi Gras celebration, enjoying a sumptuous meal. Afterwards they walked down the seawall for a bit and ended up at the Hot Spot, one of the local biker bars, where they were able to grab a table with friends on the roof to watch the parade festivities and enjoy a few drinks. She had a few more hurricanes, having had a couple at dinner. He had a couple more Grey Goose’s. They laughed and caught beads, and danced around and sang. Her friends were great fun and he was happy to have had the chance to spend some time getting to know them, and with her. He liked watching their interaction; it was obvious they were all close.

He’s not really sure how they got here this quickly, in his apartment. He had hoped they would end up here, hoped it would happen tonight, but he wasn’t sure it would happen, and certainly wasn’t banking on it – not even now as they stand there looking at each other. She is glancing around, curious about his tastes after never knowing him with his own place. The last time they spent time together in person, he was 16 & 17and still lived at home. They have talked on the phone plenty and chatted frequently, too, over the last decade and a half. But this is the first time they had actually seen each other since then. Well, there had been that one time he saw her, but she hadn’t seen him and had no idea he was there where she was – but that’s another tale.

She spots his stereo. “Can I put something on,” she asks. Already looking through his iPod before he could respond, she chooses a playlist she recognizes a few songs on. Songs he turned her on to a few years back. She puts the device in its cradle, hits the play button and adjusts the volume where they can hear it well, yet still talk over it without too much effort.

Hayes Carll starts playing – the song he told her makes him think of her every time he hears it – It’s A Shame We Aint Lovers. They discussed it once & agreed that song kind of told their story, at the time anyway. She laughs, “Loved this song ever since you turned me on to it!”

“Well woman, you definitely have a good memory,” he replied. “A bit surprised you remember that conversation.”

“Yeah, I remembered. Kinda hard to forget many of the things you have told me,” she says softly, almost whispering, “You can be quite charming, and your feelings for me & how you have expressed them over time have been quite surprising. I think you think you love me,” she says coyly.

“Do you now,” he whispered as he leans down to kiss her. Timidly she backs off a bit, yet doesn’t pull away.

She is wearing a white gauze button up shirt. Though they had stopped kissing at this point, while they are standing in front of the each other, he takes the opportunity to begin unbuttoning her blouse. She pulls back a little, with a look conveying she is not sure she is ready for this step in her new life. “I’m really nervous . . .”

“I know you are sweetheart,” he said, “As God is my witness, I do not want to do anything you are not comfortable with until you are comfortable.”

“I know you don’t. I know you respect me and care about me. I just don’t want you to think I am leading you on,” she said demurely.

He continues to unbutton the shell buttons keeping the flowy white gauze covering her. While he could feel her trembling a bit, she allowed him to continue. He could already tell she had a nice tan, natural not one of those store-bought ones. Her skin was soft, and a little sparkly right above her breasts and down her cleavage. He smiled at this – she had prepared to look nice regardless of the outcome. He liked this thought as it rolled around his brain.

Nothing was said as he unbuttoned the last button and pulled her blouse away a little showing her voluptuous curves. As her bra fastened in the front, this caught his attention, quickly followed by the lavender lace gracing the top of her breasts. As he ran his finger across the top of the bra, he looked at her. She looked nervous, unsure, but also had that hungry longing look in her piney green eyes of a woman who had not been touched, desired or loved in a while.

He grew braver, as she had not reached her hand up to stop him, nor voiced any objection. He wanted so badly to see her, touch her, hold her, have her as his own.  Slipping a few fingers inside the lace, he ran them right down to the clasp, and unhooked her bra. As it popped open, he leaned back a little to ensure a good view. He had never forgotten what her teenage body looked like and she had beautiful tits back then, and they were even more beautiful now with age – nice, full though fuller more to the outside, not huge, but definitely more than enough to fill his hand or his mouth. He slipped her blouse and bra straps off her shoulder, noticing the little dimples in her shoulder blades. He remembered those, too – he found them to be quite sexy.

As her blouse and bra slipped to the ground, she stepped back a few inches and so did he. He looked at her, her soft, brown, fairly firm yet curvy torso made him grin all the way across his face – no way she could miss that response.  He wanted to scoop up her tits and put his lips and tongue all over them, especially her small pink nipples. He wanted to bury his face into them and her.

He worked hard to contain his excitement and desire, as he did not want to scare her away. Though he had touched her beautiful tits and body before, he wanted to touch them again – and do more. He knew if he moved too fast, she might get headlights of fear in her eyes and bolt. He certainly understood – she had been married for over 37 years. Being with someone new for the first time after that long can be daunting at best, horrifying at worst depending on her mood and mindset, as well as levels of comfort and desire.

Her feelings about this were of utmost importance to him. He had waited too long to allow this to be something she might regret. He loved her. He had always loved her. Even when he wasn’t thinking about her over the years in the past, he knew he loved her. He had loved others, but there was always a little piece of his heart those women didn’t own – she did, she always had from the day he met her, and certainly once he got to know her and what she was about. He had begun wondering over the years if that’s why his other relationships never worked out, she was his soul mate.

“Wow woman – I believe I am speechless,” he said low and husky with that southern drawl of his, as he looked at her nude from the waist up. He truly lost his breath for a moment. He never imagined he would see her again like this. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to his big bed, and show her all the love he has held inside for her all these years. He wanted to do all the things he had dreamed of doing with her if he ever got the chance again.

But he didn’t dare. He just looked at her, as he reached and gently touched her arm, running his fingers down to hers. He could never remember feeling this warm before in his life. He thought he might spontaneously combust standing right there. But he knew he had to be patient, he had to take this slow. He had to let her set the pace. By now the next song that always reminded him of her was playing, Hayes Carll’s Beaumont.

To be continued . . . maybe . . . and thanks for the inspiration Hayes Carll!!

© ~ Sadie ~ and Windchimes and Dreamcatchers, 2013-2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to ~ Sadie ~ and Windchimes and Dreamcatchers with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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