Simon Says: A small inspired story. More of a reflection maybe. I am putting this under Romance as I am not sure where else it might be best placed. Veteran types here could provide their advice.
Comments and contacts are always welcome. Happy reading!
*****
I stared at the very few words on my screen. Again. I couldn't focus on a single idea as my mind was distracted. And racing. And jumping from idea to idea. And none of those ideas were very good.
I looked out the window again for the seventeenth time. Our yard stretched out before me. A slight breeze on that cool Spring day made the tree branches sway lightly in a peaceful fashion, like small waves of greeting. The yard stretched back to the dense woods behind the house, crawling up the side of a very small mountain (a large hill really). It was undoubtedly very peaceful out here. And isolated. A writer's dream place, but seemingly still failing to inspire me in this story.
I sighed again, my mind focusing on everything except the task at hand: the creak of windows under the light breeze, the hum of the air conditioner kicking back on, the distant sound of the love of my life walking through our home, a tiny spot of condensation on the desktop where my beverage had just sat.
Sometimes to clear my mind I would clean, straighten. I did that already with no success. Sometimes I would take care of a few other 'to do' tasks, smaller and easier to knock out. Also check on that one. And also no success. Sometimes I would make a to do list to see if it cleared things out, unloading the thoughts and near thoughts in my head onto another canvas instead of remaining lodged in my mind, taking up valuable space. Did it. Didn't work.
So here I sat staring at a screen with the time and the need to work on this but decidedly lacking the calm and focused mind to accomplish such a task.
My fingers fidgeted as I kept staring at the few words. And then my eyes returned to the window for staring episode number eighteen. And that's when I saw her in the reflection. Her face, framed by her hair, moving gracefully towards my seat. The rest of her did not register in the reflection. I didn't turn. I just watched as she got closer as I heard the patter of her feet on the hardwood floor of the office. I smiled. Even with few details discernible, I loved the way she looked. So beautiful. So graceful. I was a very blessed man.
When she stopped right behind me, I finally felt her fingers rest gently on my shoulder. I closed my eyes for a moment relishing the gentle touch. She moved her fingers to the back of my neck, moving fingertips through the back of my hair. It felt so good. She knew my buttons. Always.
I sighed contentedly as her fingers continued their pseudo massage exploration of my hair. My fingers began to relax. Eighteen gazes out into the peaceful picturesque scene of our back yard could not accomplish what she did in a few gentle caresses. She was that good.
She must have been leaning over as I suddenly felt the presence of her beautiful face right next to me. She didn't speak. We didn't need to. She and I could speak volumes to each other without a single word being uttered. She leaned forward slightly and kissed my cheek. Soft lips grazed against the warmth of my cheek. No sound, just a reminding touch.
I reached back with my hand. I needed another point of contact. Maybe two. Maybe ten. I ran my fingertips along her leg. Her knee was exposed. So was her thigh. It was only when my fingers blindly reached her upper thigh did I encounter any resistance: long shirt tails. She was wearing one of my button down collar shirts. She knows I love her in those.
I am less turned on by frilly lingerie (although I must confess I do like it also) than I am by a woman, my woman, wearing a button down shirt and panties. Its natural. Its intimate. It speaks to the very core of me.
I brought my thumb and other fingers to gently grip her thigh, my thumb on her inner thigh, my fingers outside, squeezing gently. She let out a small gasp. I knew what she likes.
