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Well, today is another gray and rainy day in this town. Kind of makes you think that life is nothing but a succession of shadows and gloom, dark clouds and chilly winds, interspersed with the promise of a little sunshine now and then to maintain enough of a fiction so everyone keeps going. Gray and cold. Old and gray. Wet and chilly. That’s how the day looks. That’s how I feel. That’s what this day makes me feel, as if I’m immersed in reality.

Good thing that I still can dream and fly. And it’s always harder not to wander away. To warmer places. To sunnier places. To places in which I can be whoever I dream of being. To places where I can meet the woman I want at will.

If I look through the window I can see her walking. Funny thing. I haven’t seen her face, ever, and yet here she is: smiling, saying nice things in a voice that’s caressing me, full of sweet overtones.

“Hi. How are you? You look as if you need a break. Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me? Well, we can go to this coffee shop, close to my place. So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go”

And all of a sudden, we are neither in this time, nor in this town. We’re somewhere in the middle of a dream, looking at each other, sipping cappuccino and talking of our lives. We’re frozen in time. Words coming and going without a finish line. Words coming and going, dancing with the music of our eyes, following the rhythm of a more intimate connection. Here we are: the first man and the first woman, repeated ad infinitum. The first blood and the first heartbeat. Always the same and yet always new.

Her face is changing with the slow movement of the moon. Her words are wrapping me with the laces of rainbow. Her eyelashes are hypnotic. Her mouth is more than tempting and this is not a coffee place, this is a forest and she’s casting her spell. I look but I want to see. I see but I want to dream. I dream but I want to have. Her words are falling and they sweep me.

I’ve played the game of seduction many times, but every new look, every promise of flesh anew, every new whisper of the garden of wantonness washes out my old sins. It’s me, fresh, again. It’s my skin without memories, without owners, without repeats. I’m a virgin one more time.

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She was small, and somehow childlike even though her eyes were wise and her gait determined. A casual observer would notice the grace in her step, and admire the resoluteness in the pose of her head; she seemed to be searching for something, but gave the impression its find would be unexpected. Like a sleepwalker, perhaps, or just a solemn little girl playing hide-and-seek with an imaginary friend. Soft, shimmering folds of cloth fell in a swirl from her almost too-high Imperial neckline. She was long-limbed but short-waisted and favored this style for its complementary treatment of this imperfection. Her grey eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of herself in the glossy surface of the domed metal corridor, and her pensive look spoke volumes on her self-esteem. Her lips were next to widen as a tall figure moved into view directly behind her.

“Oh, sir, I hadn’t expected to see you…you startled me,” she lilted delicately in a surprisingly mature tone.

“I can see that.” smiled the older, silver-haired man whom she turned to face. “I’d been told you were looking for me, so I decided to shorten your trip. Would you prefer the lounge, or is my office more suited to the matter?”

“The lounge would be alright, I suppose. It’s nothing of any real urgency, but I thought you might like to hear this from me, first; it is my assignment, after all.” she smiled in return.

“Cut! Okay, we’ve been here long enough for tonight, and that’s a wrap for this scene. We’ll pick up at 9 am with the re-shoot of scene 2 — that footage doesn’t look as good as it could. Remember, everybody, plenty of sleep and be ready for another full day of shooting tomorrow. We’re doing good and we’re staying on schedule, let’s keep it up!” The director stood as he said this and the crew began breaking up the equipment. The actors gathered belongings, hoping to change in their trailers and have enough time to beat the late traffic; the two on stage allowed their characters to leave them, slowly.

“Amelia, you’re doing a wonderful job. It’s amazing to me that you’ve never filmed before! Stage actors are rarely this poised when it comes to making movies.”

“Yes, well, it’s new but it’s fun. I’ve been told I’m a natural,” she replied with the nonchalance of someone who’s not sure she’s really been paid a compliment, “but I think it’s just luck: good luck to have my foundering ego boosted by some of the best actors in the business.”

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At last, we’re alone. Ever since your return, we’ve been surrounded. Your friends, my friends, our friends. All day long, I’ve been looking at you. Relearning the way you look, the way you move. Wanting to have you to myself as soon as possible. Well, now it’s possible. We’ve seen everyone off, and it’s bedtime. So now, behind three sets of closed doors, we are alone.

We stand by the bed on the cold hardwood floor. I turn off the light and look at you in the cool moon-glow streaming through the windows. I’ve never told you how wonderful you look in your nightclothes, even though you’re only wearing a t-shirt and sweats, the same as me. I think you can tell from the look in my eyes how much I love you, how much I’ve missed having you with me.

We move to each other, and my arms wrap around you as yours encircle me. We stand, unmoving, feeling each other’s warmth, glorying in having something substantial to hold on to. No more dream-hugs, waking to find my arms clenched tightly across my chest. Now my arms are around you, and I know that you’ll still be here in the morning.

We move apart, ever so slightly, and look into each other’s eyes. Our faces move closer, and our lips meet for the first time in what seems like years. We kiss tenderly, then firmly, our passion restrained, then wanton. Your lower lip quivers as i run my tongue along it, then you follow suit, licking my lips as I taste you again, for the first time.

I move my lips across your cheek, nibbling at your flesh, approaching your ear. I reach it, and whisper what I’ve wanted to scream out loud this whole day long:

“I love you.”

The words, and the rush of air accompanying them, cause a wave to flow over you. I hold you as your body trembles. You hold me tighter and tighter still. Still we stand, together and in love.

Your hands loosen their grip on my body and I feel them traveling up and down my back, your fingertips playing across the back of my shirt. I do the same for you, rubbing your muscles through the cotton. Muscles sore from travel and heavy baggage begin to loosen as we rub each other, pressing our bodies together, kissing, then hugging, then rubbing some more.

I run a fingertip along the collar of your shirt, lightly touching your skin. Your breath catches in your throat.

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He breathed in the fresh air and felt more alive than he had in months. “Man, I love summer,” he said as he surveyed the scene. There were people everywhere on the beach, some just sunning, some playing frisbee, some reading. There were people of all shapes and sizes, like always. He loved seeing all the skin at Wreck Beach.

He walked down the bank and hunted for a good spot. He wanted to be a little away from people, but not so far as to not be able to look at the pretty women! A place found, he spread out his blanket and took his book out of his satchel, and then started to strip. “Nude beaches are great for just being yourself,” he thought. A toss, and the t-shirt and shorts were piled on top of his shoes, and he smiled as he felt the wind caress his skin.

He sat down and got ready for a good read when he saw her. She was sitting ahead of him and to the left, on a slight rise in the beach, and she was watching the frisbee players. A pretty thing, she had curly auburn hair and a body like he hadn’t seen in years (well, okay, maybe months – but it seemed like years). She noticed him looking at her, and she smiled. Embarrassingly, he felt his penis harden, and he reflexively closed his legs. She seemed more curious for a moment, and then rolled over on her stomach, while never letting him out of her sight. He finally noticed with a start that her left leg ended above the knee.

He wasn’t sure what to think at first, and it must have read on his face, as she kept peering at him quizzically over the crook of one arm. He took little glimpses at the bare, pink stump and felt like a voyeur for doing so. Meanwhile, his penis seemed to keep proving who had control of such situations by continuing to grow. Dammit to hell, hardons just didn’t happen to him down here! Here he was, staring at this poor one-legged beauty and sporting a huge erection, probably making her feel like a freak in a freak show …

… except that she was now smiling at him. He suddenly saw how comical he must look, sitting there trying to deny reality. He felt a sheepish grin spread over his face and he exhaled some of his tension away. He pointed down in the general direction of Mr. Happy and shrugged, and she collapsed in the sand, laughing. He felt the erection fade, as he too, laughed.

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Your hand comes to immediate and reassuring rest upon the small of my back, as it unfailingly does whenever you are lying next to me as I stir into awakening. We have shared this moment many times over the years, and this familiar yet ever unexpected gesture continues to move me. I sometimes ponder how a subtle, unabated desire for you has remained so alive and flame-like within me; familiarity so often dulls our sensitivity to the changing beauty of those we love.

We don’t sleep like spoons and our shared time is as sporadic and imperfect as the paradoxical creatures we ourselves are. We part for a time but always come back to each other to share the intimacy again.

Your hand knows (whether you yourself do or not) that I need its warmth, its current, its solidity, to bring my body to life. I have lived much without it, given our penchant for separations, but it is still the current of life to me, that hand on my back; it is my food, my desire, my reason. From your palm to the small of my bark and out through my belly, which rests flat on the surface of the bed, your solar glow begins its slow radiance, suffusing my heart with its warmth, flowing downward like molten lava over my Venusian mound, down farther, down the insides of my legs, stirring like lights the inner spaces below my ankles.

Perhaps you are still dreaming, unaware of this journey we have begun. It is as though your instinct is ahead of you, moving you toward me, drawing you from your solitary flight in the boundless universe of dreamland. I don’t know — can we ever know another’s experience directly? Still, my imagination seeks images of explanation; what is it at your deepest core that knows me? I don’t ask, I feel the current travel from you through me and out again; our molecules, heedless of our possible intent, begin their rhythmic intimate dance.

I listen to the sound of birds outside our room, then the sound of our breathing, now in unison, all of my senses coming alive. This time, this unique and unrepeatable time, I hear the rustling of the sheets as you stir. Moments pass. Your hand changes pressure ever so slightly. Our breathing is slow, rhythmic, relaxed, yet deeper.

My eyes, resisting morning, are still closed and I am awake within that light-darkness. You are wordlessly aware that I am awake; our ritual is silence. We are orphan-close, so far away in this moment from the day which will soon press in upon us. We are farther still from our differences, our troubles, far from who we often pretend we are, even to each other. Do we really even know each other? I think not. Yet, our intimacy is so complete that we are like one being in this quiet time of shared arousal.

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