Memories
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“That is why I write – to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance.” Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept Recently, something caused a fundamental shift in my awareness of my conjured reality. I finally began acknowledging my time was short on this angry blue planet. In an…
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She could not hide from my intuitive power as I sensed she was no longer present, even when her body succumbed to orgasm and the fog of closeness and sweet words.
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I learned so long ago from an abandoned child whose life trajectory proved that if you believe in yourself, others will too.
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In the afternoon, we returned from working in the forest or with the crops and animals, and we both went to the spillway, where Anne would pour the water over me while I wiped the dirt and sweat away.
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My mind played in vignettes with no music or sounds of sweet words, just those haunting large brown eyes above freckled cheeks so soft and smooth. It seemed an assault to me to abrade her skin with my beard and calloused hands.
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He always tried to lead our little threesome in the jungle and Ann allowed him every indulgence except sex, which Pete could not understand. She nurtured her errant knight with food, kindness, and gentle but bloody effective persuasion.
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The day I looked up from my labor, my fashionable loin cloth no longer new or foreign to me, I arrived at a divergence in my life’s journey.
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After a little more than a week with the tribe, Pete and I began to relax around each other. It seemed his attitude was more on how to swallow his pride and entertain a barbarian. I understood and made no demands on him.
Hyperion Sky 