IT had been drizzling rain all morning with the fog that inevitably follows. Dreadful fog really, as it cloaked the trees of the backyard and obscured the beauty of nature. There was always a bit of sorrow on a day such as this when one really only had thoughts to turn to, and whatever or whomever was at hand. Such a great reading room, with large glass panels acting as walls that opened directly onto the porch with a view of the grass at hand and the woods afar, but now it had only the obfuscation of dull mist; regardless, the light coming through was just perfect for reading by the window rather than farther in as on a sunny day.
Michaela searched the bookshelf for something that was familiar, but never quite the same. Plenty of fictions could fall into a familiar category, but only those of superior authorship brought forth old feelings and new revelations. Pride and Prejudice called out from the shelf in a way only the middle mind could perceive, the middle mind being both conscious and yet subtle as to be unconscious. If a class of superior authorship did indeed exist Jane Austen would no doubt be one of the shining pillars, subtlety upon subtlety, with intrigue intertwined one felt as if she whispered a secret every time soon to be forgotten in the usual business of life.
As Michaela read she could not keep her mind at ease, the Cello in the far corner across from her plush seat seemed to stare at her, and she at it with a twinge of guilt. Growing up there hadn't been much emphasis on music; she had found a taste for classical during college and one night elected to pursue a deeper understanding. In the two years that followed she had become competent, but practice was always a necessity and this week she had been elsewhere. Austen could wait, she would at least tune and play a scale or two before the guilt became savage.
The C and A strings were both well out of tune, not much effort to correct but certainly an annoyance. Well tuned she plucked a few notes from a strange Italian composition she had found weeks before, the harmony was oddly satisfying and the lack of changing pitch assured her that the tuning had been successful. Bow in hand she drew it against the strings as her fingers found their notes, slowly she plied each note from the cello as if it were a delicate sculpture that required care and patience. Without quite realizing it she drifted into Bach's Cello Suite #3 and allowed it to take control of her, there were minor notes out of tune, but overall she was having a great performance of it until she had the strange sensation of slowly being held.
One arm slowly made its way down her right shoulder and over her bosom as another found its way from her left side to interweave fingers with the other over her midriff. As if on queue the familiar scent of raspberry shampoo accompanied the weight of a chin against the right side of her neck and a soft kiss along the line of her jaw. She continued her piece as she allowed the caress to take hold, and, finding a convenient place to stop she turned to meet her embrace's lips to her own and they found each other with ease.
"There's breakfast on the table, love." Heather whispered to her in the soft embrace.
"It'll still be there in a bit." Michaela whispered back, smiling from ear to ear and motioning to stand.
Michaela carefully set the cello leaning into a corner of the room and shifted over to the sound system. Carefully she perused her music collection until she found what she was after, a compilation of classical ballroom music. She set the CD in its tray and the room slowly came to life with the sound strings and woodwinds.
Heather approached her, extended her hand, and said, "May I have this dance?"
Michaela placed her slender fingers on Heathers hand which she grasped lightly and kissed while drawing her closer. They embraced into a ballroom stride, moving about the room with ease until the left pant leg of Michaela caught under her foot and caused her to stumble. Her sleepwear had always been too long but it still took her by surprise.
"Not to worry my dear." She said to Heather as she stripped off her bottoms with grace, and continued the dance in panties.
The high and fast notes had passed now into the slow tempo known to lovers everywhere. Heather drew her in closer, and closer. Michaela could feel her breath on her cheek and moved closer still. A kiss, soft but sure of itself. The dancing turned to swaying as they held each other close; Michaela felt Heather's tongue, animated with the beauty of her lover, find its way between her lips to have a dance all its own.
Barely moving they danced to the music, Michaela felt her heartbeat quicken every moment with the passion flowing into her. She wanted, no, she needed Heather now, there was nobody else in the world who could make her feel this way.
