Only right

"Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom
Well, who am I to keep you down?
It's only right that you should play the way you feel it"

                                                   -------- From Dreams by Fleetwood Mac 

When I stepped out onto the deck of your house that overlooks the beach, you are already in the shower inside the newly installed glass-walled sauna that occupies the back of the deck. You are proud of the sauna and had invited me to come see it. I pause to watch you. You can see me watching you. The water plays with your glistening skin as it envelops your familiar curves. You play with my mind, washing your breasts with caresses, your hands moving smoothly down your stomach to reach between your legs, and then raising your legs you wash them one by one. Smiling, I move towards the glass door watching the intimate play between water and hands and body.

Grinning playfully, you approach him as he sits naked on a towel on the middle raised bench of the sauna. He grins back, saying "this is a wonderful place for us to play babe." You kneel on the lower bottom bench and use your hands to open his legs to make room for yourself. Trailing kisses on the sweat and steam on his thighs you move your mouth towards the source of his heat, enveloping it with your throat. He plays with your hair while you pleasure him. 

I sit on the floor and lean back against the glass wall. The sauna has exhausted its moist swollen heat. Tired, you sit down on the floor with me, your back towards me. I embrace you from behind, holding you gently as you lean back into me. Kissing the side of your face, I whisper "my love." You tilt your head back to look up at me and reach for my lips with yours.

You sit on his lap on a deck chair just outside the sauna. He has put his clothes back on but you are still naked. You enjoy the effect your body has on him. The fire burning in the urn next to the chair keeps you warm despite the cool summer nightime breeze off the ocean. You drain the Rioja from your glass before putting it down on the side table and turn playfully towards him, saying "come to bed, baby."

The early morning light on what seems to be a clear summer day floods your bedroom and I can sleep no more. You lie asleep next to me. I reach with my hand ever so gently to brush the hair off your face so that I can see you clearly.

Flicker

In my words you must stay.

You flicker in and out of existence on the chair across the round wooden table from me. The lone table and two chairs barely fit on the narrow deck at the back of the cafe, but I enjoy the relative privacy from the crowd inside.

The rain falls all around us, the overhang of the roof keeping us dry. The lush green undergrowth of the thick forest comes all the way up to the deck so that I could touch the rain washed leaves by just extending my arm. The canopy of tall pine trees diffuse what little of the late afternoon light makes it through the rain.

When you come into focus, I hand you the cappuccino I had gotten for you earlier. You tell me about your day. I listen, my mind drifting, distracted by the sound of the rain, by the movement of your unadorned neck as you speak, by the way your dark hair falls atop your bare shoulders, by the movement of your curves as you cross and uncross your legs to find a comfortable way to sit on the wood-slatted chair, by the light in your eyes as you talk to me.

I listen to your day but what I really want to do is to ask your night, 

    "How did you become the woman in my dream?, and 

    How did you make me the man that I seem? and, 

    Who wrote the stories that gave us our past?"

You flicker in and out of existence as the rain deepens in the fading light.