Although the sun isn’t up yet, it’s close enough that the darkness is going. I can see the dark mounds of the dunes, my feet in front of me. The faint white glow of waves is breaking on the shore, a few soft stars giving up to the growing light. I walk a bit above the wet sand at the shore’s edge, enjoying the way the soft sand pulls at my bare feet, making my calf muscles work with each step. I fight the impulse to look behind me; I have to trust that you will find me, as you said you would, as you promised you would. It isn’t easy for us to meet each other, and even at this early hour, with only the really dedicated runners out, there is some risk in being seen. I imagine you waking, dressing in the dark, slipping out of the house without making a sound, without waking anyone up, already thinking of an excuse to relate when you return to the house to join the breakfasting crowd of vacationers on the veranda.
Showing posts with label Erotic Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Erotic Travel. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Twisted Vagabondage Tale From A Beach
Although the sun isn’t up yet, it’s close enough that the darkness is going. I can see the dark mounds of the dunes, my feet in front of me. The faint white glow of waves is breaking on the shore, a few soft stars giving up to the growing light. I walk a bit above the wet sand at the shore’s edge, enjoying the way the soft sand pulls at my bare feet, making my calf muscles work with each step. I fight the impulse to look behind me; I have to trust that you will find me, as you said you would, as you promised you would. It isn’t easy for us to meet each other, and even at this early hour, with only the really dedicated runners out, there is some risk in being seen. I imagine you waking, dressing in the dark, slipping out of the house without making a sound, without waking anyone up, already thinking of an excuse to relate when you return to the house to join the breakfasting crowd of vacationers on the veranda.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Twisted Vagabondage Tale From A Bookstore
It was a wonderful concert (Bach suites, arranged for chamber orchestra and thankfully not performed on period instruments, much as I might admire the intentions), and as I leave I’m feeling slightly charged. Most concert-goers drift off towards bars and coffee shops. It’s too late in the evening for me to drink coffee, and I’m not much for alcohol either, not without company anyway. The others, after all, are in loose knots of friends or paired off with spouses or lovers. Very few people, it seems, attend concerts alone. If I hadn’t been traveling, I probably wouldn’t have either, but here I am alone. I’m quite comfortable in my own company, and I wouldn’t have missed this music just because I have only strangers to share it with me.
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